gay_vomit

[shrektittymilk69]

Uhhhh my name is Sam

Im 19

Love sukuna and billy hargrove

And adrian chase (HEAVY on adrian chase)

[k1swass]

when u find a masterpiece x reader fic, but the reader turns out to have a name and a description

[bee2124]

Me ruining my sleep schedule by staying up every night to read fanfiction

[vigilantexreader]

everything has changed

Adrian Chase x fem!Reader

part one

synopsis: Adrian has spent his entire life thinking he's a Beta. Then one traumatic mission turns his life upside-down, and he realizes he might finally get to have the one thing he's always wanted: you.

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, omegaverse dynamics (talk about mates, heats/ruts, etc), alpha!Adrian, omega!reader, medic!reader, 11th street kids is a pack, mission gone wrong, reader injury (bullet wounds), desperate and needy and protective Adrian just the way I like him, (I have never written omegaverse fic before be nice to me lmao)

word count: 5k

notes: It is finally here thank you so much for your patience I know I have been teasing this for weeks lmao I am anticipating around seven parts to this one!! MAJOR thank you to @embeanwrites and @snowyathena for the beta read and all their help brainstorming and editing <3

Masterlist | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

The 11th Street Kids are not your typical pack. 

Chris and Emilia, two bonded Alphas that butt heads as much as they care about one another. Ads, John, and Adrian, three Betas who gladly follow their lead, even when things get messy. And you.

Black ops work tends to attract a particular type—Alphas and Betas. You’re a bit of an odd one out as an Omega, but you’ve determinedly proven yourself capable of the work time and time again. Still, you’ve never actually been out in the field. You’re a medic, and you stay behind at headquarters, ready to help when the team gets back from missions, fixing Emilia’s shoddy emergency-med work that keeps them alive en-route to you.

“That is not how you pack a fucking bullet wound, Emilia,” you have said countless times. Or “Jesus Christ, how many times, Adrian, have I told you to leave the knife in after you get stabbed?” Or “What kind of drug did you accidentally inhale? If I was in the field with you, maybe I would have seen it and been able to tell—”

And you are itching to get out there and help. You’ve been begging for months. Even if all you do is stay in the van with John, you can do more, be there for the team more effectively, if you are out there in the field with them instead of waiting at the Checkmate office or whatever temporary HQ has been set up for long-distance missions.

Still, Chris and Emilia have been reluctant to let you—as the only Omega of the group, they tend to baby you, maybe a bit too much. But you’ve been there through it all—the butterflies, the alternate universes, standing on the sidelines as quiet, caring support for the others. 

Being a good friend to Chris when he desperately needed one, after he got out of prison. Reminding John of his value when he’s feeling unimportant. Helping nurse Em back to health after Coverdale Ranch. Standing by Ads when her relationship with Keeya was falling to pieces. Comforting Adrian when Chris made the dumbass decision to fuck off to Nazi land. Welcoming Fleury, Bordeaux, and Judomaster into the pack with open arms and managing everyone’s emotions as the group adjusted to the three new Betas added into the mix.

But you’re more than a caretaker, and you’re ready to prove it.

“I am not a child,” you insist when Chris tries to bench you, yet again. “I have just as much training as the rest of you. I can handle a gun. I can handle myself. I am a professional, and I am qualified.”

“We need you here.”

“John gets to go with you all the time!” you cry. “He might be a Beta, but he’s a bigger pussy than I am!”

“Hey!” John protests.

“Sorry,” you mutter, not sounding at all sorry.

“She deserves to go,” Adrian cuts in, from a few desks away. “She’s worked just as hard on this as the rest of us. You can’t keep treating her like glass because she’s an Omega. I know you have this weird Alpha need to like, take care of her or whatever, but she’s also more than capable of taking care of herself. She takes care of the rest of us all the time.”

You’re grateful to have someone on your side. Adrian is your best friend, and he never lets anyone give you shit for your designation. You’d asked him about it once, and he’d said something vague about his shitty Alpha brother and not wanting to be like him. 

If he was an Alpha, he’d be the perfect one, in your eyes. He never gave a shit about social convention, he understood you better than maybe anyone else in the world. You catch yourself wishing some days that things were different.

Emilia sighs. “It’s not that. You know we respect you. You also know that your designation makes you a target.”

“So we’ll keep an eye on her,” Adrian says. “She’s not going to go out there alone. If we’re watching her back, and you know we will be—”

“Fine!” Chris says, giving in. “You can come on the mission tomorrow. But Adrian stays with you the whole time.”

“Gladly,” Adrian agrees.

“Thank you,” you say delightedly. You hug Adrian, and he laughs.

He hates it when anyone else touches him, but—he’s never minded it from you. You smell nice. He takes the opportunity as you wrap your arms around him to quietly tuck his head into your neck and inhale, right where your comforting scent is the strongest. He hopes it lingers, for the rest of the day. On his clothes, on his skin, in his hair.

Adrian might be a little bit in love with you. A lot a bit in love with you, actually. But that doesn’t matter. He’s never had a shot with you anyway. He’s not an Alpha, he can’t give you what you need.

But he can give you this. He can watch your back so you have the chance to go out in the field with the rest of the pack, like you’ve always wanted.

“No problem,” he says, trying his best to pretend that everything is okay. That it doesn’t kill him a little bit inside when you let go, step back, move back to your desk.

He watches you and swallows hard, and tries really, really hard not to be consumed with irrational jealousy. 

Jealous of whatever Alpha, one day, will get to keep you to himself.

Jealous of his alternate self, who he spends every day trying not to think about. Who you will never meet, thank god, because—he was an Alpha. And he would have been able to be with you, in a way Adrian never can be. Maybe—maybe he was. He had a mark. Right there, high on his neck. Adrian hadn’t been able to stop looking at it, couldn’t help but wonder. The question had been on the tip of his tongue the entire night, but he kept deflecting—talking about Pokemon and cloud-men and shag carpeting, skirting around the question he really wanted to ask, because he was too afraid. Because if it was you—if the only thing keeping him from you is his fucking designation—

He snaps himself out of the thought. It’s never happening, not for him. All he can do is take advantage of the time he has with you now, before some asshole Alpha steals you away to another pack. So he pastes on a smile, saunters up behind you, and taps you playfully on the shoulder.

“Better go practice your aim,” he teases. “Make sure you’re 100% field ready—”

“Oh, fuck you,” you laugh, but you start walking in the direction of the weapons room anyway. “Come with me?”

He follows you with a smile on his face. He always will.

Everything goes sideways fast. Your informant fucked you all over. It’s an ambush.

Adrian has heard pained or panicked shouts from everyone—Chris, Harcourt, Ads, Economos. He ignores them all, because he was given a prerogative from his Alphas. To protect you. 

“Stay here,” he tells you, hands on your shoulders, pushing you behind him, away from the danger. “Stay here, stay low, stay behind me. Do you hear me?” You nod, eyes wide as you look up into his visor.

“Okay,” you agree, cocking your gun. “I’ll do what I can from a distance—”

“No, don’t waste your ammo,” Adrian says. He hands you his guns, instead, and draws his machete. “In case—if they get closer, you need to defen—”

“I got it,” you assure him, accepting the weapons. “Go, Ade, I’ll be okay.”

So he stays focused, takes out as many attackers as he can, slashes out with his machete, chopping off limbs, sending blood spraying through the air while you shoot from higher ground, just behind him. He doesn’t stray far, keeping you in earshot, no more than a quick sprint out of reach.

There’s some part of him that feels sickly satisfied, like he always does, as the bodies hit the ground. There are dozens of them. Far too many. Whoever sent them here is going to die, he decides. Whoever put his pack at risk like this, whoever put you at risk like this.

Even still, this is what he’s good at. The killing. It’s what he enjoys. He’s smiling under his Vigilante mask as he looks at one of the last assholes in his vicinity and slashes out. The guy gets off a couple shots, but they fly wide, missing him. Adrian laughs as he shoves his blade through the guy’s neck.

Adrian looks back at you to check in, to crack a joke about how of course your first field mission goes right off the rails, and—you’re not where you’re supposed to be. You’re not where he left you. His eyes dart around frantically until they land on you, and he breathes a sigh of relief, but the feeling only lasts a moment. You look at him, in that split second, frozen with shock. 

Then he sees the blood soaking through your uniform. He watches you go pale, a hand pressed a wound he’s too far away to see clearly, and you hit the ground. His blood runs cold. He can smell your blood on the air—your scent, familiar, but also wrong. Tinged salty and metallic, thick, like he can taste it on his tongue.

The transformation happens in an instant. 

Adrian goes fucking ballistic. 

Something takes over him. Something vicious, and aggressive, and panicked, and he yells your name, but you don’t answer him. Two more people try to corner Adrian, and he doesn’t even bother with a weapon. He just snaps their necks. Then he races to you, bolts as fast as he can, his heart pounding harder than it ever has.

His vision is already tinged red by the Vigilante visor, but it goes even redder with rage when he sees you slumped on the ground, lifeless. His knees hit the ground beside you, and he rips his mask off. It feels hard to breathe in it, suddenly, as he looks down at you, strangled by the strongest fear he’s ever felt. His hands reach frantically for your face, and he says your name over and over again, interspersed with pleas, as he tugs you into his lap.

No, he thinks, he shouldn’t be moving you. He needs a medic, he needs you, but—he curses. Goddamnit, fuck, what would you tell him to do, what have you trained him to do when the others get shot—

“Put pressure on it,” he tells himself out loud, but even as he does it, his voice is shaking, his hands are shaking, because he never, ever, thought he would have to use this knowledge on you. “God, please, wake up, look at me, please—”

“Adrian,” says a voice behind him, and he turns and bares his teeth, brandishing his machete defensively.

“It’s me!” Emilia says, holding her hands up. “It’s me!”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Adrian logically knows—it’s Harcourt. Harcourt isn’t going to hurt you. But even as he lowers his weapon, something feels bad. Wrong. And when she reaches for you, to assess your injuries—

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Adrian snarls, gloved fingers digging into your skin, shielding you from the threat that his body is telling him is right there.

“What?” Emilia says, completely caught off guard.

Adrian turns back to you, tense with fear and worry. His hands press harder against the places you’re bleeding from—your shoulder, your side near your ribs, trying desperately to stop the flow of blood even as it soaks into his gloves. “Come on, wake up, look at me—”

You blink awake only briefly, your eyes unfocused, but you say his name, very softly, and your weak fingers clutch at the buckles on the front of his uniform. The possessive feeling roars back up Adrian’s throat times a thousand, drowning out everything else. All he knows is protect and need and mine.

“They’re all dead,” Chris says behind him, breathless, and Adrian tenses up again without knowing why. “I think John’s arm is fucked up, we need her to set it—” Then Chris’s eyes land on you. “Oh, fuck—she doesn’t look good, we gotta get her out of here—”

Adrian sees Chris’s arms reach for you, and he growls, something deep and primal and uncontrollable. A sound he has never made. A sound he shouldn’t be able to make. Chris freezes, bristles, looks at Adrian.

“What the fuck was that?” Chris says, more confused than angered by the intensity emanating off of Adrian in waves.

Then Chris takes in the whole scene. The way Adrian’s clutch on you is so tight it might leave bruises. The way he hunches over you protectively. The way he snarls when Chris looks at you for a moment too long.

Chris pauses. He inhales. His eyes go wide, and he takes a giant step back.

“Holy fucking shit,” he says. “Adrian—”

“Whoa, what the fuck is going on?” Ads says, confused as hell. John stumbles up behind her, also looking confused, nursing a wound of his own on his arm. They both look worried when they see you unconscious on the ground.

“You smell it?” Chris asks Emilia, and her brow furrows. She sniffs the air, and her mouth falls open.

“Holy shit,” she whispers. “Oh my god. Is he—”

“Ads, I need you to run to the van and get me a tranq dart,” Chris says, voice low. “Now.” She does as he asks without asking any questions.

“Adrian,” Emilia says softly, trying again to approach, even slower, calmer. “I need you to let me look at her injuries. I’m not going to hurt her.” She pauses and thinks, tries to rephrase into the particular words he needs to hear right now. “I’m not going to take her from you.”

But it’s no use. He’s too far gone for logic. When Emilia reaches forward, he panics.

“No,” Adrian says desperately. “No, no—she’s mine—”

His eyes are wild, unfocused, filled with such animal fear and rage and need that it’s clouding every other feeling. He’s vibrating, shaking, breathing hot and heavy, on the verge of falling over entirely into animal instinct, of going completely feral.

“Please, let me help—” Emilia says, trying to gentle her voice and approach again slowly, and Adrian snaps.

“Get the fuck away from her!” he shouts. “Don’t—”

As soon as Ads returns and hands Chris the tranquilizer gun, he shoots. The dart hits Adrian right in the neck, and everything goes dark.

When you wake up, blinking blearily, Adebayo’s face comes into your field of vision. When you turn your head to the side, Emilia is sitting at your bedside, holding your hand.

“Hey,” she says, sounding a little relieved. “We were worried about you.”

“What—”

“You got shot. Like, three times,” Emilia says. You look around. You’re in the Checkmate infirmary, hooked up to a couple IVs. Blood, some other fluids. There are a few dull aches in your side, your shoulder, but they don’t hurt nearly as bad as they should. They must have given you the good painkillers.

Your brain still feels a little foggy, though. You try to remember what happened, and it comes back in snapshots. The ambush. The pain. Adrian shouting for you.

Clarity washes over you in an instant, and you sit up in bed, wincing as the movement irritates your injuries in a way even the painkillers can’t mask. “Fuck—”

“What is it, what do you need?” Emilia asks. “Stay down, I’ll get it—”

“Adrian,” you say. You don’t know why, but something inside you wants him, right now, more than anything or anyone else. “Where is Adrian? He was—”

Emilia and Adebayo exchange a look. You glance between them worriedly.

“Is he okay?” you ask, almost afraid to hear the answer, your heart sinking. You got hurt, you weren’t there to take care of him if he got hurt. 

“He’s going to be,” Emilia says. “He’s…sick.”

You frown, unimpressed. “Bullshit. Stop fucking lying to my face, please. Adrian has a healing factor. He doesn’t get sick.”

Adebayo sighs. “She’s gonna find out eventually, Em. There’s no point.”

“Find out what?” you demand, starting to get panicky. “If there’s something wrong with Adrian, I want to know, and I want to know now. He’s my best friend, if something happened to him—it’s my fucking job to take care of the pack, and he—”

“While you were unconscious,” Emilia says, “something…unexpected happened.”

“Stop being cryptic and just fucking tell me.”

“Adrian presented,” Ads interrupts, ripping the bandaid off. You jerk back from her like you’ve been slapped.

“Adrian…presented?” you say slowly, your heart pounding against your chest, a pit of dread forming in your stomach. “What do you—”

“He’s spent his entire life thinking he’s a Beta,” Emilia says. “Hell. We all thought he was a Beta.”

“What do you mean? He’s not?”

“Not anymore,” Ads says. “He’s an Alpha.”

You look between the two women in front of you again and let the information sink in. You lay back against the pillows slowly, fidgeting with the edge of the bedsheet nervously. Because this is the kind of thing that could change everything. And the fact that they’re so reluctant to tell you the whole story tells you that it already has.

“Adrian is an Alpha,” you repeat, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“John and I looked into it. Delayed presentation affects less than 1% of the population,” Adebayo continues. “It’s incredibly rare. Usually triggered by the presence of a compatible genetic mate, or a traumatic circumstance.”

Compatible genetic mate. Traumatic circumstance.

“Traumatic circumstance,” you say, a little frantic. “Did he—is he hurt—”

“He’s not hurt,” Emilia says. “All of us got a little banged up. You got the worst of it. When it was over, by the time we got to you, he was freaking the fuck out, radiating Alpha pheromones in waves like I have never seen.”

“You’re telling me Adrian’s life changed overnight because I got shot? Not because of his own traumatic injury, but because of mine?”

The girls are quiet.

“It’s probably more complicated than that,” Ads says softly. “It might be…a little bit of the other thing, too. That’s what me and John are theorizing, anyway. He said—while you were unconscious, he said—you were his.”

A compatible genetic mate. You swallow as you absorb the implication of her words.

“Is he?” you ask, afraid to raise your voice. Afraid to hope. To make it real. “Is he mine, Em?”

“Listen—” Emilia starts.

“Is he mine, Em?” you repeat, your throat tight. “Is Adrian my Alpha?”

Emilia stares at you.

“I think so,” she says softly. “That’s what triggered it. You were hurt, and you’re his, and something inside him recognized that you needed him. He was—he was a mess. He probably still is. When you got hurt, if Chris wasn’t there to keep him in check, bring him back from the brink, he might have gone feral. As it is, we had to tranquilize him so I could treat your injuries. He wouldn’t let either of us get anywhere near you.”

You’re quiet for a minute, feeling strangely guilty. That you’re the cause of all this trouble, throwing the pack dynamics out of whack. But there’s no going back, now, and there’s some part of you that hopes—maybe this is a good thing. Maybe this is the best thing. Because haven’t you thought a million times that you’d wished Adrian was an Alpha? That he could be yours?

If Adrian is yours, though—why isn’t he here? Does he not want you in return? But then you think—if Adrian just presented, for the first time—

“He’s in rut, isn’t he?” you whisper worriedly.

“He is,” Emilia says hesitantly, like she doesn’t want to admit it.

It hurts you, a terrible pang in your stomach, to think about Adrian suffering, confused, alone.

“I want to see him.”

“You are in no condition,” Emilia says, “to be near an Alpha going through his first ever rut. Adrian needs time to adjust to his new reality. Introducing an Omega into the equation when he’s already volatile is not a good idea. And you are hurt. You need to heal.”

“He needs me,” you say, your throat tight. You think you might cry. “If it’s true, if he’s mine. I need to be there for him.”

“Chris is with him,” Ads says, reaching for your hand and squeezing. “Adrian will be okay, but—he’s wild and unpredictable right now. You got shot. Multiple times. If you went over there, and he ended up hurting you worse, imagine how guilty he would feel.”

“He would never hurt me,” you say, and you know, in your heart, that it’s true.

“You can believe that all you want. I’m not willing to risk it. After he’s…over the hill,” Emilia says, “then you can see him.” 

It’s firm. It’s final. And—she is your pack Alpha. What she says goes.

“Can I at least talk to him?” you ask, quiet and nervous. “Please?”

“Let me talk to Chris,” Emilia says. “See how he’s doing. And then maybe we can arrange that. For now, you focus on getting better. You scared the shit out of us. All of us. So let us take care of you, okay?”

You nod, and she squeezes your hand. But you bite your lip and think about how the one person who you really wish was here to take care of you is the one you’re not allowed to see right now.

When Adrian wakes up, he’s sweating buckets, half-naked, strapped down to a mattress in…he looks around. Chris’s old trailer? There’s a sharp, stabbing pain in his gut, and his head is pounding, and god, why is everything so bright and loud?

“What the fuck,” he pants.

“You’re awake,” Chris says. “Good. Sorry I had to tranq you, bro, but you were acting a little crazy.”

“You—what?” Adrian says, bewildered, still a little out of it, trying to blink away the haze of whatever Chris apparently drugged him with.

Then, in a flash of clarity, he remembers what happened. He remembers you, bleeding out in his arms, and the pain in his gut intensifies tenfold, and just the thought of you makes him crazy with want. He needs you. He doesn’t know why, but he does. Instantly, he starts pulling at the restraints.

“Where is she Chris get me the fuck out of here I am not fucking around I will fucking kill you I need her is she hurt—”

“Calm down,” Chris says in his Alpha command voice. Then he remembers it won’t work now. He softens his voice and tries again. “Hey, calm down, Adrian. She’s okay. I promise you, she’s okay.”

Adrian looks at him, still squirming, but present enough to be puzzled, because Chris’s command did not do a damn thing. And a little bit pissed, because he hates it when his best friend uses his Alpha voice on him, like he’s a fucking kindergartender.

“Where is she?” Adrian repeats, low and growling, a command of his own, fueled by the extra power of his recent presentation, the lingering feral energy he can’t contain, and—it works. It shouldn’t, but it works.

“She’s with Emilia and Ads, at her apartment,” Chris says, the words spilling out of him like he can’t stop them. His eyes are wide, his mouth dangling open. “Did you just fucking—use your Alpha voice on me?”

Adrian pauses tugging at his restraints to look at Chris like he’s insane. Because he is. “Use my what? I—dude, why the fuck am I tied to the bed? Why did you bring me here?”

“Because you’re in rut,” Chris snaps. “And I don’t trust you not to go chasing after her. You are out of control right now. And I brought you here because I figured you wouldn’t want your mom around for this.”

Adrian flushes a furious red color. “I am not in rut. I’m a Beta. You know I am.”

“I thought I did,” Chris says. “I believe you thought that too. And then yesterday happened. And you are in rut, and you are an Alpha.”

“I’m not a fucking Alpha!”

“It happens,” Chris says. “People present late in life.”

“I am thirty-four! I would know—”

But even as he says it, he cuts himself off. Because he remembers—his alternate self was an Alpha. So maybe, just maybe, he is too. He just didn’t know.

And selfishly, he thinks…maybe, just maybe, this is his chance. To have you. To love you, the way he’s always wanted.

“You’ve always been a late bloomer, Thimble.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Adrian says, but he swallows roughly. At least, he tries to. His mouth is too dry. “Can you fucking untie me please? God, I’m so fucking thirsty. And itchy, and uncomfortable, and horny, Jesus Christ—”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “Because you’re in rut, Adrian. Your first one. Historically, the worst one you will ever experience. So if I untie you, you have to promise me that you will not run after her. I will tranquilize you again. I know you want her. Hell, she probably wants you. But she’s hurt. She’s in no shape to help you through this.”

“You said she was okay,” Adrian says, panicky. “How—how bad is it?” His breath feels short, his hands are shaking. A terrible, awful guilt sinks in his stomach, adding to the pile of a dozen other terrible sensations he’s feeling right now. “It’s—it’s my fault, I was supposed to protect her. I convinced you to let her go on the mission in the first place. Fuck, Chris, is she okay I need her please—”

“Fuck,” Chris mutters. “I wanted you to be in better shape before—but—goddamnit.” He pulls out his phone and dials while Adrian practically hyperventilates in front of him, trying desperately to yank himself out of the ties holding him down. He tries to bite at the ropes with his teeth, the muscles in his neck straining, but he can’t reach them.

“Emilia,” Chris says. “Put her on the phone.” A pause. “Yeah. I know we said we were gonna wait. But he’s freaking the fuck out. He needs to talk to her.”

“Please,” Adrian says. He tries to get up, but he’s still tied down. “Please, please, I need—”

Chris puts the phone on speaker.

“Adrian?” Your voice rings through the room, and Adrian whimpers audibly at the sound. He closes his eyes and throws his head back roughly against the pillows, trying to take a few settling breaths. You’re alive. You’re well enough to talk to him, at least. 

It should make him feel better, but it sends another bolt of agony through him. God, he’s so fucking hard. He wants you so bad. He wants to scent you, he wants to fuck you, he wants, he wants, he wants.

“If I untie you, are you gonna flip?” Chris asks him. Adrian takes a deep breath.

“No,” he says, chest heaving. “Please, just let me talk to her, Chris. Please.”

“You have him tied up?” you cry. “He’s not a fucking animal, Chris!”

“He was borderline,” Chris says seriously. “You were unconscious. You didn’t see how close to feral he got.”

“Untie him,” you demand, and Adrian’s heart skips a beat, hearing you so fiercely defending him.

Chris cuts the ropes, and Adrian instantly reaches for the phone.

“No funny business,” Chris orders, holding it just out of reach, and Adrian starts begging.

“Please give me the phone please let me talk to her please Chris I promise I won’t do anything I just need to talk to her—”

Chris tosses him the phone. Adrian snatches it out of the air, takes the call off speaker, and brings it right up to his ear. When he says your name, it’s shaky, nervous, but also a little bit relieved.

“Adrian,” you say, and half the tension leaves his body, just hearing you say his name, all soft and concerned. Then it roars back as another bolt of pain shoots through him, because—god, he wants you so bad, and he can’t have you right now. A pained noise escapes him, and you must hear it, because you ask worriedly, “Talk to me, Adrian, are you okay?”

“Am I—” He cuts himself off and laughs humorlessly, hissing through the pain. “Am I okay? You—you got shot. I saw you go down, you were—you were bleeding out in my arms. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” you assure him. “All patched up, at least. It hurts like a bitch. But I can take painkillers for that. You…you can’t. If what they’re saying is true. Are you really…”

Adrian rubs a hand over his face, wiping the sweat from his brow. God, he’s so hot, but even as he thinks it, he shivers.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he says. His voice is hoarse, and he feels like he might cry, he’s so overwhelmed. “It hurts.”

“What’s happening is your body wants you to find something to knot and breed,” Chris says bluntly. “So your sex drive is through the roof. For the next four days, at least, you’re going to be an irritable, horny asshole, and probably feel generally like shit. It’s gonna suck ass, because you don’t have an Omega or a bonded partner to help you through it. Headaches, feverish, dehydrated, oversensitive. This is basic high school sex ed, dude, you should know this.”

“I never paid attention to any of that Alpha shit, because I thought it didn’t apply to me,” Adrian says hoarsely. “How—why is this happening?”

“It’s my fault,” you say, your voice soft and regretful. 

“No,” Adrian says, because he hates the thought that you’re blaming yourself for this. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” you say, sniffling, and Adrian thinks you might be crying. It breaks his heart. “I’m so sorry. Ads said—she said that late presentation can be triggered by compatible genetic mates and traumatic events, and I got hurt, and it was just—both, at the same time—”

“Mates?” Adrian croaks. “Are you saying—”

But before he even asks, he knows. He remembers the way he felt, holding you in his arms. He feels it again now, his lungs constricting, knuckles going white, pupils dilating as a wave of it washes over him. Possession. Want. Need.

“You’re mine,” he whispers.

general adrian taglist: @justalotoffanfiction @danversxwasabi @clowninavan @obsessedromancereader @adoresami @a-young-g0d @rattymess @raidstarz @bastardstevie @am-3-thyst @xoxocamis @morguegrl89 @somethin-sparklyy @awesomsaucesom @secretjesterr @fangirl48 @seeingdubs @lovenerdywhitemen2 @23s0fia @jeshomie @aerionshipthrust @deamlucem @tlfg-adrianchase @brianna-merlim @amart-e @countvonklit @pieolsen @gingerjane15

alpha!adrian taglist: @lil-rigatoni @basicanti-socialb-tch @vigilcourt @directbing @bunch-of-bens @trelaney @obsessedcontentconsumer @unfortunatewriting @selina00kyle @elodiebeau @zombicupcake3

[habitism]

been thinking about the differences between hoodie & brian ... ooogghhh..

Brian is maybe one of the most confident people you'll ever meet. He's sure of himself in every way.

He walks with his head up, and he has no reservations about showing off a little. Parades you around and shows you off when he can, with the obvious reservations. He's not necessarily ashamed of the work he does with Slenderman and Tim, but he doesn't brag.

When he first met the Operator, his brain didn't take as kindly to his presence. That's the reason Hoodie split off.

They could not be more different.

Your first encounter with Hoodie could hardly be classified as an encounter.

You had a late walk home. By the time you got into your house, it was too late to notice him following from the other side of the street.

He watched you from the cracks between your split up blinds the rest of the night. Messily bleached t-shirt trapping the heat of his heavy breathing, softly palming himself as he watched you get ready for bed.

An intrinsic attraction, worked deep into his neurons through his attachment to your boyfriend. Him, technically- so it isn't wrong. That's the excuse he gave himself for lurking around your house every chance he got, returning to the front door before Brian could really snap back.

You aren't an idiot, of course, so you noticed him eventually. Noticed the "mask" and hoodie you've seen in every bloody laundry load peeping from your blinds. The rest of the assumptions came naturally- but you weren't going to stop Brian's shy counterpart from having some fun.

Hoodie who watches you silently for weeks. Seeing the life you've built with Brian and quietly seething. He wanted to approach you. He wanted to see you, touch you, but even the thought burned holes in his gloves.

Hoodie who lurks quietly when you touch yourself at night. He has to pull away for once before he finishes untouched in his pants. Just watching you change made a cold sweat run down his face. You put on a show for him every time, pretending not to know. And it works.

You will have to be the first to initiate contact. Until then, you get to play with your "stalker" as much as you want.

[shrektittymilk69]

Sucking it up and reading these Stockholm syndrome fic's like God INTENDED ngl this shits kinda fire

[strawberrymilkmothman]

Thomas who hand feeds you when you refuse to eat pieces of your friends.

Who picks only the juiciest, most succulent parts to give to you.

Who holds the tender bites of meat between thick, calloused fingers and presses them between your lips with gentle yet firm pressure. Who holds your nose to make you swallow them down. Who wipes away your tears with clumsy, earnest attention.

He’s taking care of you, he thinks joyously, he’s providing! 

His love for you tastes like iron and drips from every morsel, and you secretly wonder if maybe you’re starting to crave it.

[shrektittymilk69]

I've been trying to make my own AO3 skin and I'm relatively happy with it but does anyone know how I change the color of the gray box? I used Reversi's CSS as a base and just changed the colors I've been reading through it and I can't find which one changes the color of that box

[shrektittymilk69]

Just found this masterpiece

[shrektittymilk69]

Just learned what fannon hoodie is while looking through Pinterest💀 HES PUSHING 30 WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY COCKY MASTER MANIPULATER he needs more love hes so peak (and more fics ive bled AO3 dry)

[shrektittymilk69]

Can we as a Society start being more open about enjoying the omegaverse because don't lie we YES WE do be reading that shit but trying to find a fic that is actually well written either about X reader or a ship pairing is genuinely harder than I am when I find one it's a lot more common in webcomics or manwas (I think that's how you spell it?) Than fanfiction or at least in my experience but it just feels like genuinely no one writes about it😮‍💨

[shrektittymilk69]

When someone asks for fic recs or your favorite fic but the fanfiction Community will read the freakiest shit but draw the line at X reader

[xthejazzdalorianx]

friendly fire | a.c. x f!reader

summary: a classified project butterfly assignment brings you back to evergreen and back into the life of christopher smith, the older brother who once protected you and is now peacemaker. old memories resurface, secrets unravel, and a vigilante decides he does not trust you at all.

warnings: no use of y/n, f!reader, A.R.G.U.S. agent!reader, chris has emotions, grief and healing, chris being an older brother, soft angst or maybe emotional angst, enemies to lover, slow-burn

wc: ~4.8k

a/n: i haven’t written fanfic in forever, so thank you for bearing with me. this will be a multi-chapter fic, updates may be a little slow due to work. if i missed any warnings, please let me know. thanks for reading!

masterlist ♡ series masterlist ♡ part two

Chapter One: The Weight of What Was

The air in Evergreen, Washington, had a weight you hadn’t felt in a decade. It wasn’t just the familiar, oppressive dampness of the Pacific Northwest, a heavy blanket woven from the scent of pine needles, wet asphalt, and the rich, dark soil that clung to everything. It was the weight of memory, of a life stolen, of a lie that had festered for ten years. As the Uber pulled away from the curb, its red taillights bleeding into the misty twilight, you were left alone on the sidewalk with a single, scuffed suitcase and the suffocating presence of your own past.

Just breathe, you told yourself, the command a familiar mantra from years of training. It’s just a house. Just a town. But it wasn’t, and you knew it. Every gust of wind seemed to whisper your name, every drop of rain a tiny accusation. You clutched the cold plastic handle of your luggage, the flimsy anchor in a churning sea of memories, and forced yourself to look.

The house stood before you, a monument to the girl you used to be. The white paint, once pristine, was now surrendering to the relentless Washington damp, peeling back in thin, leprous strips to reveal the weathered gray wood beneath. It looked tired, you thought. Beaten down. You knew the feeling. But the decay of the house couldn’t touch the vibrant, defiant life of your mother’s garden. Even in the muted light of the overcast sky, the deep greens of the ferns, the heavy-headed hydrangeas, and the stubborn purple of the lavender bushes seemed to glow with an inner light. The combined fragrance was a physical blow, a scent so deeply embedded in your childhood that for a dizzying moment, you were twelve again, hiding amongst the fragrant leaves, the sound of Chris’s laughter echoing as he searched for you.

Taking a deep, steadying breath that did little to calm the frantic fluttering in your chest, you began the long walk up the driveway. Each step was a negotiation with ghosts. There was the spot where Chris had taught you to ride a bike, your scraped knees a badge of honor. There was the ancient oak tree with the broken branch from which you’d both fallen, landing in a heap of bruised limbs and breathless laughter. This wasn’t just a house; it was a graveyard of moments, and you were trespassing.

You dragged your luggage up the familiar wooden steps of the porch. Each creak of the boards was a note in a forgotten song, a melody of a life you had been forced to abandon. Before your knuckles could even graze the door, it swung inward.

Your mother stood there, her face a roadmap of the years you’d missed. The lines around her eyes were deeper, her hair threaded with more silver than you remembered, but her eyes… her eyes were the same. Warm, brown, and already glistening with a mixture of joy and a deep, familiar pain that mirrored your own. A small, tight, and utterly inadequate smile was all you could manage before she pulled you into an embrace that was both suffocating and life-affirming, her familiar scent of vanilla and laundry soap a sensory anchor to a life you no longer led.

“Oh, sweetie,” she murmured into your hair, her voice thick with unshed tears. “You’re home. You’re finally home.”

Over her shoulder, you saw your father. He stood in the hallway, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, a well-worn paperback still in one hand. He looked older, more stooped, but his smile was the same gentle, reassuring curve you remembered. He joined the hug, his large, calloused hands patting your back with a gentle rhythm that spoke of unspoken relief and a decade of sleepless nights. For the first time in ten years, the hollow space in your chest, the one you’d filled with training, with missions, with a cold, hard competence, felt a little less empty. It felt like home.

“Let me look at you,” your mother said, pulling back to cup your face in her hands, her thumbs tracing the faint scar above your eyebrow you’d gotten. Her brow furrowed with a concern you hadn’t allowed anyone to show you in years. “You’re so thin. Are they feeding you, wherever it is you’ve been?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” you said, your voice hoarse. “Just… tired.”

“Of course, you are. That long flight,” your father said, his voice a comforting baritone. He took your suitcase, his grip firm. “I’ll take this up. Your room is just how you left it.”

Of course, it is, you thought with a pang of something that felt dangerously like grief. A museum to a dead girl.

You followed your mother not into the living room, but into the heart of the house: the kitchen. The air was warm, thick with the smell of roasting chicken and baked apples. It was a scent of pure, uncomplicated love, and it made your throat tighten. The hallway you passed through was a gallery of your past, a curated collection of moments frozen in time. There you were, a gap-toothed seven-year-old on your first day of school. There you were again, a lanky, awkward teenager in a graduation gown, beaming with a naive confidence that now seemed almost cruel.

And then you saw it. The photo. It was in a simple silver frame, placed prominently on the hall table. It was from a summer barbecue, long before the night that shattered everything. You were twelve, your skin kissed a deep, sunburnt red, and a twenty-three-year-old Christopher Smith was grinning behind you, holding up two fingers in the classic “bunny ears” pose.

Chris. You had an older brother once, a ghost in a soldier’s uniform who had died in some faraway desert before you could form any real memories of him. Chris had stepped into that void. He wasn’t just a family friend; he was your brother, your protector, the one who taught you how to ride a bike and how to stand up to bullies. He was everything. And his father, Auggie Smith, had taken him from you, had taken everything from you.

You reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the cool glass of the frame. For ten years, you had mourned this smiling boy. For ten years, you had carried the crushing weight of a lie, the town’s whispers branding you a killer. And now… now he was alive. A ghost in a ridiculous helmet. The cognitive dissonance was a physical thing, a dizzying vertigo that made you grip the edge of the table for support.

“I never put that one away,” your mother said softly from the kitchen doorway. “It felt wrong to.”

You tore your eyes away from the photo, the memory of that night—of the shouting, of the blood, of Auggie’s monstrous face twisting in a lie as he pointed a finger at you—threatening to pull you under. You nodded, unable to speak, and followed her into the kitchen.

She was pulling a bubbling, golden-crusted chicken pot pie from the oven. Your father was already at the table, a hopeful, expectant look on his face. They were trying so hard to pretend this was normal, that their long-lost daughter hadn’t just reappeared after a decade with the haunted eyes of a soldier.

“So,” your father started, clearing his throat as your mother set the pie on the table. “A.R.G.U.S. That’s… that’s serious business.”

“It’s a job,” you said, sitting down, the worn wood of the chair familiar beneath you.

“Your mother tells me it’s what brought you back to Evergreen,” he continued, his gaze steady. “Anything to do with that… that ‘Peacemaker’ fellow we’ve been seeing on the news? He’s from around here, you know.”

Your blood ran cold. You kept your face a perfect, placid mask, a skill honed over years of interrogation and infiltration. “The mission is classified, Dad.”

“Of course, of course,” he said quickly, but you saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes. You were shutting them out, and it was killing them. It was killing you.

Your mother served the pie, the silence thick with unspoken questions. You ate, the familiar, comforting taste a stark contrast to the turmoil in your gut. You were a stranger at your own family table.

“We missed you, sweetie,” your mother said finally, her voice quiet. “Every day.”

“I missed you, too,” you whispered, and it was the truest thing you had said since you’d arrived.

The meal finished in a haze of small talk and carefully avoided topics. The elephant in the room—the reason you’d left, the boy in the photograph, the monster who lived just a few miles away—sat with you at the table, a silent, unwelcome guest. An hour later, your phone buzzed with a coded message. A location. A time. It was time.

“I have to go,” you said, standing abruptly. The disappointment on your parents’ faces was a fresh wound, but they simply nodded. They understood, or at least, they tried to.

“Be safe,” your father said, his voice thick with a worry he couldn’t voice.

Too late for that, you thought, grabbing your jacket. You were walking back into the fire that had forged you, and you knew, with a chilling certainty, that this time, you might not make it out alive.

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Fennel Fields hadn’t changed. The family restaurant, a staple of your teenage years, still smelled perpetually of stale beer and fried onions. The vinyl on the booth seats was still cracked in the same familiar patterns, and the low murmur of the other patrons was a mix of local gossip and tired complaints about the relentless drizzle. It was aggressively, painfully normal, and you, with your concealed weapon and your head full of alien parasites, had never felt more out of place.

You slid into the corner booth, your senses on high alert. This was your new team. A collection of misfits Waller had cobbled together. A real black ops dream team, you thought with a surge of professional cynicism. The best of the best. Or, more likely, the only people she could afford. Or blackmail.

Clemson Murn, the team’s grim-faced leader, sat with his back to the wall, a mountain of a man who seemed to absorb the light around him. He gave you a curt, assessing nod, his eyes lingering on you for a moment too long. He was reading you, you realized. Looking for weaknesses. Across from him, Emilia Harcourt nursed a glass of water like it was a fine whiskey, her posture radiating a coiled tension that spoke of a life lived on the edge. Her gaze swept over you, sharp and dismissive. She thinks I’m a liability, you realized. The local girl with baggage. The wild card. I’ll have to prove her wrong.

Next to her, John Economos was a bundle of nervous energy, his fingers drumming a frantic rhythm on the sticky tabletop, his eyes darting around the room as if expecting an attack at any moment. He looked like a man who had seen too much and was now permanently braced for impact. The final member of the group, a younger woman with kind eyes and an ill-fitting jacket, offered a small, hesitant smile. “I’m Leota Adebayo,” she whispered, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace. “It’s… it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” you replied, your voice more steady than you felt. You took a slow, deliberate breath, cataloging the exits, the other patrons, the layout of the room. Old habits. Or maybe, just survival.

As you settled in, your eyes were drawn to a figure moving between the tables. A busboy, tall and lean, was clearing plates with a jerky, almost surgical precision. He moved with a singular focus, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scraped leftover fries into a plastic tub. There was an odd intensity to him, a disconnect between the mundane task and the fierce concentration he applied to it. And then he turned, a stray lock of brown hair falling across his forehead, and you saw his face. Oh. He’s cute, the thought was immediate and unexpected, a flicker of warmth in the cold, professional mindset you’d adopted. Cute in a twitchy, high-strung way. Like a border collie that hasn’t been walked. But that smile… Even in repose, the corners of his mouth seemed to be fighting an upward battle.

Just then, the bell above the restaurant door jingled, and all your carefully constructed professional detachment shattered. Chris walked in. He was dressed in his full, ridiculous Peacemaker costume, and every head in the restaurant turned to stare. He swaggered over to the table, a cocky grin on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What’s up, dickheads?” he announced, sliding in next to you. Your breath caught in your throat. Ten years, and he was right here. The same, yet so different. He smelled of gunpowder and cheap beer. The sheer physical presence of him next to you was overwhelming, a ghost made solid. He glanced at you, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second. Recognition flickered in his eyes, followed by a complicated storm of emotions you couldn’t begin to decipher. He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, a silent command to wait, and then turned his attention to the table, pointedly ignoring you. The air between you was thick with a decade of unspoken words, of pain and betrayal and a grief you now realized was all for nothing.

Murn, unfazed by the spectacle, cleared his throat. “Now that everyone’s here,” he began, his voice a low rumble that cut through the restaurant’s chatter. “Project Butterfly. The targets are not human. They’re a parasitic alien species that wear our friends and family like meat puppets. They enter a human host, take control, and are indistinguishable from the real person.”

Economos pushed a tablet across the table, showing grainy footage of a person’s face contorting, a grotesque, winged creature emerging from their mouth. Your stomach turned, but your training kicked in. You leaned forward, your eyes narrowed on the screen.

“They favor hosts in positions of power,” Harcourt added, her voice sharp and precise. “Politicians, community leaders. We have intel that there’s a nest here in Evergreen. Our primary mission is to identify and terminate them.”

“Terminate how?” Adebayo asked, her voice a little shaky. “Like, with guns?”

Chris let out a derisive snort. “Duh. What are you gonna do, ask them to leave nicely? They’re fucking body-snatching alien butterflies.”

Your jaw tightened at his tone. You kept your own voice level and professional, addressing Murn. “What’s their durability? Do we have any data on weaknesses? Preferred habitat? Do they leave any kind of energy signature we can track?”

The question hung in the air. Harcourt looked at you with a flicker of respect. Economos started typing furiously. Even Chris shot you a surprised, almost impressed, glance from the corner of his eye. It was a small victory, a tiny assertion that you weren’t the scared little girl who fled this town ten years ago. You were a trained A.R.G.U.S. agent, and you were good at your job.

As Murn began to answer, your eyes drifted across the restaurant and landed on the busboy again. He had paused in his work, his own wide, curious eyes fixed on the bizarre collection of people in your booth. His gaze met Chris’s, and his entire face lit up with a huge, goofy, and utterly unrestrained grin. From across the room, he waved, a frantic, enthusiastic gesture.

Chris glanced over, his expression turning to one of mild annoyance. He nudged you. “Oh, Christ,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. “I think that’s my friend Gut Chase’s younger brother, Adrian. He has mental issues.”

You watched as Adrian, the busboy, gave one last, beaming smile before turning back to his work, humming a cheerful, off-key tune. You looked from the strange, intense busboy back to the brother you thought you had lost forever, a man now wearing a costume and a hardened mask you didn’t recognize. A cold knot of dread and confusion tightened in your stomach. You had just walked back into the emotional minefield of your past, and it was already more complicated and stranger than you could have ever imagined.

This was going to be a long, long assignment.

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The meeting dissolved without ceremony. Murn gave a curt nod and was the first to leave, followed by Harcourt and Economos who vanished into the misty parking lot like ghosts. Adebayo offered you another small, sympathetic smile before departing, leaving you alone in the booth with the one person you had crossed the country to see, the one person who had said absolutely nothing to you.

Chris drained his beer, slammed the bottle on the table, and stood up, his movements stiff. He still wouldn’t look at you. He started for the door, and a hot, familiar anger surged through you. After ten years of silence, of grief, of carrying a lie that had shattered your life, he wasn’t going to just walk away. Not again.

You followed him out into the damp air, the drizzle clinging to your hair and clothes. He was already at his car, a garish muscle car painted with red, white, and blue stripes that was just as loud and obnoxious as his costume. As he pulled the driver’s side door open, a large bald eagle sitting in the passenger seat let out a sharp, piercing squawk. The eagle’s head tilted, its intelligent eyes fixing on you. It ruffled its feathers, a low, almost purring sound rumbling in its chest as it recognized a scent from a decade ago.

“Chris, wait up!” you yelled, your voice sharp in the quiet lot.

He froze, his hand on the car door. For a long moment, he didn’t move, his back a rigid wall of muscle and leather. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and slowly turned to face you. The bravado was gone, replaced by a weary defensiveness. The harsh fluorescent lights of the parking lot carved deep shadows into his face.

“What?” he asked, his voice rough.

“‘What?’” you repeated, the word a bitter taste on your tongue. You took a step closer, your fists clenched at your sides. “That’s all you have to say to me? Ten years, Chris. Ten years, and all I get is ‘what?’”

“Look, I’ve been busy,” he grumbled, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “You know. Peace stuff. Killing bad guys. It’s a whole thing.” He was deflecting, hiding behind the ridiculous persona he had built. It only made you angrier.

“I thought you were dead,” you said, your voice cracking on the last word. The sound hung between you, raw and wounded. “For ten years, I thought you were dead. I grieved for you. I mourned you.”

His jaw tightened. He looked away, his gaze fixed on some distant point in the darkness. “Yeah, well. I’m not.”

“No, you’re not,” you shot back, taking another step. You were right in front of him now, close enough to see the flicker of pain in his eyes that he was trying so desperately to hide. “You’re alive. And for ten years, everyone in that town, everyone we grew up with, thought I was the one who put you in the ground. Your father told them I stabbed you, Chris. He pointed his finger at me, and you… you let me run. You let me believe you were dead. Why?”

The question was a plea, a desperate cry for an answer that could somehow stitch the gaping wound of the last decade back together.

He finally looked at you, really looked at you, and the Peacemaker mask crumbled. For a fleeting second, he was just Chris again, your Chris, the big brother who taught you how to throw a punch and who held you when you cried. His expression was a mixture of guilt, regret, and a deep, simmering rage that wasn’t directed at you.

“I had to,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I had to let you run. If you had stayed… he would have killed you. Or worse.” He shook his head, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “I knew you didn’t do it. I always knew. It was him. It was always him.”

He didn’t have to say the name. Auggie. The monster that had haunted both of your childhoods.

Tears you didn’t even know were there began to stream down your face, hot trails on your cold skin. You let out a choked sob, a sound that was a mixture of relief and a decade’s worth of pain. Without thinking, you lunged forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He was stiff at first, his body unused to such gentle contact. But then, slowly, hesitantly, his arms came up and wrapped around you, holding you in a tight, protective embrace that was so familiar it made your heart ache.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into your hair, the words thick with an emotion he rarely showed. “For all of it.”

In the passenger seat, Eagly let out a soft, contented squawk. For the first time since you had set foot back in Evergreen, a tiny, fragile piece of you felt like it had finally come home.

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The drive back to your parents’ house was a blur. The familiar streets of Evergreen, slick with rain and shrouded in mist, passed by your car windows like scenes from a dream. Your hands were steady on the wheel, a stark contrast to the chaotic symphony of emotions playing out in your chest. Relief, so potent it was almost painful, warred with a decade of simmering anger and a grief so profound it had become a part of your DNA. He was alive. Chris was alive. The simple, four-word sentence replayed in your mind, a mantra that was both a miracle and a curse. Alive, but a stranger in a ridiculous costume, a man who smelled of gunpowder and hid behind a wall of crass jokes.

Parking in the driveway, you cut the engine and sat in the sudden, heavy silence. The hug. You could still feel it. The stiff, awkward resistance in his body before he finally, finally melted into the embrace. The gruff, mumbled apology in your hair. It was so quintessentially Chris—emotionally constipated, but loyal to the bone. He let you run to save you. The knowledge was a balm on a wound you didn’t even know was still festering.

You finally forced your tired limbs out of the car and walked back into the house. The smell of your mother’s pot pie still lingered in the air. Your parents were in the living room, their soft murmurs a comforting backdrop as you ascended the stairs to your old bedroom.

Pushing the door open, you were hit with a wave of temporal vertigo. It was a perfect, preserved time capsule of the eighteen-year-old girl you had been. Faded posters of obscure indie bands were still taped to the walls, their corners curling with age. A stack of well-worn fantasy novels sat on your nightstand, a place of honor next to a small, framed photo of you and Chris, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, grinning like idiots at some long-forgotten joke. The bed was still covered in the same purple comforter, now slightly faded. It was your room, but it wasn’t yours. Not anymore. The girl who lived here was naive and hopeful. She hadn’t seen a man’s face contort as an alien butterfly crawled out of his mouth. She hadn’t spent ten years learning how to kill, how to lie, how to disappear.

God, what a mess, you thought, the internal voice dry and weary. He’s alive. And we’re hunting aliens. In Evergreen. What the actual fuck is my life?

With a sigh, you heaved your suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it. The contents were a stark contrast to the room’s teenage nostalgia: practical, dark-colored clothing, a dopp kit with travel-sized toiletries, and, tucked into a hidden compartment, your service weapon and a slim, manila folder stamped with the A.R.G.U.S. insignia. PROJECT BUTTERFLY.

You began to unpack, the mundane, repetitive motion a welcome distraction. You hung up a black jacket, your fingers brushing over the reinforced lining. You folded a pair of dark jeans. Then, you sat on the edge of your bed and opened the folder. The clinical, typewritten words were a world away from the emotional chaos of the last few hours.

“...hosts exhibit enhanced strength and a hive-mind mentality... primary weakness appears to be sonic frequencies, though this is inconsistent... termination requires catastrophic neurological trauma...”

Your professional mind took over, analyzing the data, cross-referencing it with what Murn had said. You flipped through the grainy photos of suspected hosts. A state senator. A local police chief. A CEO of a logging company based just outside of town. A company you remembered. You used to go fishing in a creek that ran through their property. The thought sent a chill down your spine. The butterflies weren’t just an abstract threat; they were here, infesting the places of your childhood.

So, we’re not just killing aliens, you mused, tracing the outline of the senator’s face. We’re killing our neighbors. Or what’s left of them. The thought was grim, but it was the job. You had learned long ago to compartmentalize, to separate the mission from the morality. It was the only way to survive.

After finishing the folder, the adrenaline that had been fueling you for hours finally crashed, leaving you feeling hollowed out and bone-tired. You gathered a change of clothes and walked down the familiar hallway to the bathroom, the worn floral wallpaper a ghost from your childhood. You stripped off your clothes and stepped into the shower, the hot water a welcome shock to your system. You let it run over you, washing away the grime of the flight, the sticky residue of the restaurant, the lingering scent of Chris’s leather jacket. You closed your eyes, the water drumming a steady rhythm against your skull. You thought of Chris’s face when he saw you. The flicker of pain. The guilt. The rage at his father. You thought of the team. Murn’s grim determination. Harcourt’s icy competence. Adebayo’s wide-eyed nervousness. And that busboy. Adrian.

He was cute, you admitted to the privacy of your own mind, a fleeting, inconsequential thought. In a weird, intense, probably-needs-to-be-on-medication kind of way. There was something about his smile, though. It was so genuine, so utterly without guile. It was a strange contrast to the rest of this town, to the secrets and lies that seemed to permeate the very air. Chris had called him weird. Coming from Chris, that was saying something.

You shut off the water, the sudden silence deafening. After toweling off and pulling on a soft t-shirt and a pair of worn pajama pants, you crawled into your old bed. The sheets smelled of your mother’s laundry detergent, a scent of safety and childhood that felt like a lie. You were not safe. You were a soldier sleeping behind enemy lines.

You pulled out your phone, the screen a harsh blue light in the darkness. Your thumb hovered over your contacts, over the name you had never been able to bring yourself to delete. Chris.

For a long moment, you just stared at it. What do you even say after ten years of silence and a parking lot reconciliation? What’s the protocol for texting the big brother you thought was dead? Your fingers trembled slightly as you typed, deleted, and re-typed a dozen different messages.

Finally, you settled on something that felt right, something that was so perfectly you and him.

You: Glad you’re not dead, asshole.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, your heart pounding in your chest. You watched the three little dots appear, disappear, and then reappear. A minute stretched into an eternity. Then, your phone buzzed.

Chris: Yeah, well. You’re still a pain in my ass.

A real, genuine smile, the first one since you’d arrived, spread across your face. It was a start. It was more than you had dared to hope for. You typed one more message.

You: Get some sleep. We’ve got butterflies to kill. Chris: You too. Don’t let the bed bugs bite. Or the aliens.

You set your phone on the nightstand, the small, glowing screen a beacon in the darkness. You were home. You were in danger. Your brother was alive. And you had a job to do. For the first time in a long time, you felt a flicker of something that wasn’t anger, or grief, or fear. It was a fragile, tentative thing, but it was there. It felt a flicker of hope.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

masterlist ♡ series masterlist ♡ part two

[shrektittymilk69]

I HATE liking Niche characters because what do you mean there are little to no fics of them???? and if I do find some it's all just smut or one shots 😭 please normalize big fat juicy slow Burns🙏

[shrektittymilk69]

I have a hc that androids from dbh DO Breathe

it acts as a sort of cooling system kind of like how computers and other electronics that are meant to function for long periods of time have built-in fans

They have a synthetic lung like component that circulates oxygen and keeps them from overheating from the inside

[sukunahs]

sweet tooth | ryomen sukuna

episode 10: stop the world I wanna get off (with you)

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (university au)

summary: sukuna has a notorious reputation on campus of being terrifying, but it's hard to be too scared of the guy when he shows up to your family’s failing bakery every day to buy strawberry shortbread.

when your life feels like its falling apart you discover just how sweet he can be.

word count: 13.2k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, university au, FLUFF, angst, humor, slow burn, idiots in love, miscommunication, parental illness/death, grief, toxic ex-bf, reference to past sexual coercion/assault, money issues, stress and overwork, introverted reader, panic attacks, anxiety, violence, piv, fingering, cunnilingus

a/n: went a bit crazy on the word count for this one hehe hope you all enjoy

series masterlist | ao3 | previous chapter (ch9) | next chapter (ch11)

Waking up with you in his arms had Sukuna wondering if he was still caught in a dream. 

It all seemed surreal, tangled up in your sheets, sunlight filtering through the blinds illuminating your bodies snuggled up in your bed. One of his arms was resting beneath your neck, while the other was curled around your waist, pressed against warm skin where your pyjama shirt had ridden up during the night. 

Your hands were clutched against your chest, face buried in his shoulder, warm breath fanning against his skin as you slept peacefully at his side. He blinked sleep out of his eyes, careful not to move as he stared down at you, heart picking up at the sight of your tousled hair, at how peaceful you looked with your long lashes brushing against your cheeks.

Now that he was really giving it some thought, this was the first time that he’d ever woken up in bed with a woman. For all his sexual encounters, he always made sure that the girl would leave as soon as they were done, uninterested in taking his one night stands beyond anything but sex.

With you it was different. He’d swear off sex completely if that was what was necessary to see you like this each morning, so soft and angelic in the golden light. 

His hand moved from your waist up into your hair, threading through the soft strands, stroking gently as he held you against his chest, completely at peace feeling the calm rise and fall of your chest. He wasn’t sure how you’d be when you finally awoke, a sense of anxiety making itself known in his chest as he considered that you might not want to be all tangled up with him like this in the light of day. 

After all the events with Hiromi, he wouldn’t be surprised if your aversion to touch made itself known once more, your trauma leading you to push him away, unable to separate the memories of Hiromi from the presence of Sukuna. 

But for now he shoved the worries aside. 

All that mattered was that right now he had you happily in his arms - if you woke up in complete terror then the two of you could cross that bridge when you came to it. 

He found himself surprised by how long you ended up sleeping in that morning. 

You were typically always awake before him, responding to his good morning texts in an instant, most likely already at the bakery or at the library, forever a morning person. But today it seemed as though you were completely at peace, finally getting yourself some well-earned rest. 

There was a smug part of him that was convinced your relaxed state was his doing, that you’d been wound so tight for months and he’d finally given you the release and safety that you needed. 

He liked the idea that he could have such an impact on you. 

By the time you finally came to at 11am, Sukuna had started contemplating whether or not he should wake you himself. His arm was totally dead from you laying atop it, and his phone was completely out of his reach, meaning that he’d spent the last couple of hours splitting his time between micro-analysing every tiny detail of your room, and fantasizing about what it would be like to fuck you in this bed with all your cute little stuffed animals watching.

Admittedly, he really tried to put that thought out of his head, considering that you weren’t anywhere near ready for that yet, but it was difficult with the way that you kept shifting against him in your sleep, each contact making him achingly hard. 

It was almost a relief when your pretty eyes fluttered open, instinctively shifting away from him as you began to wake up. You looked cute, rubbing sleep from the corners of your eyes as you glanced up at him shyly. 

“Morning, angel.” 

“Hey.” You took a deep breath. “Sorry-” 

“You’ve been awake like three seconds, the hell are you apologising for?” 

You shrugged, a red flush coating your cheeks as you pouted, reaching out to grab a frog plushie that sat beside your pillow, fiddling with its webbed hands. “Y’know, asking you to come over so late and crying and stuff.” 

“You’re so stupid.” He said with a breathy laugh. 

“I’m not stupid.” 

“Really? How come you keep believing that everything’s an imposition then? If you’re so smart, surely you should be able to figure out that I want to be here. Quit apologising.”

“Fine.” You mumbled, not unlike a kid who had just been scolded.

“Good girl.” 

There was an incredulous look on your face, but it did little to hide the furious blush on your cheeks at his words. He’d gotten good at understanding what was and wasn’t crossing a line for you, and flustering comments were definitely on the table. 

As was kissing you on the forehead apparently, if last night was anything to go by. 

It was almost embarrassing how happy that had made him, his heart racing at the thought of a mere peck on the forehead - not even a kiss on the lips and he still felt overjoyed. After all the time he’d spent mocking Choso for being down bad about various girls, he’d never expected that he’d finally understand it. 

“Your hair.” He was taken aback as you reached out to him, fingers gently brushing the strands that had fallen in front of his forehead. “It’s down.” 

“What, did you think it just defied gravity or something?” 

“No.” You giggled. “Just haven’t seen it like this before.” 

Personally, Sukuna hated having his hair down - it would get in his eyes and made him look entirely too much like his brother Jin. He’d been pushing it back since childhood, always making sure to differentiate himself from his sibling. 

Though, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the way you were looking at him right now.

“You look so pretty.” You spoke softly. 

“I’m not going for pretty.” He grumbled, trying to ignore the way his heart fluttered. The feeling only intensified as you laughed once more, dropping your hand back into your lap as you gazed at him. 

“Handsome then?” 

“Are you flattering me for a reason?” He asked with a wry grin. 

“Never.” You said, entirely too seriously. 

Fuck, you were so cute.

He pulled himself up from the bed, running his fingers through his hair, attempting to push it up as normal. A couple of strands fell back down, but for now that would have to do. 

Trekking across the room he winced at the sight of his phone, an instagram message request lighting up the screen. It was from an account he didn’t know, but the username and contents of the message made it easy enough to guess who it was from. 

There was a whole lot of cursing, and a slew of insults about you, ranging from emphasizing how much of a prude you were to somehow calling you a whore within the span of the same sentence. 

For all of your talk about how elegant Hiromi was with his words, it certainly wasn’t shining through in this message. He’d probably sent it when he was still raging drunk, although he’d still had the clarity to send it from a burner account to make things more difficult if Sukuna were to try reporting it to the police. 

Bastard. 

Sukuna glanced over at you, sitting on the bed and stretching, your shirt rising a little as you reached your hands over your head. He supposed that he should tell you about the message, but that felt wrong. He didn’t want you to think about Hiromi for a moment longer - he’d take care of it and you could keep your peace. 

“You’ve got all your socials set to private, right?” Sukuna asked. 

You winced, clearly smart enough to understand what would prompt him to ask such a question, but unwilling to compromise your own peace by delving into his words. “Yeah, only followers can message me.” 

“Good.” 

“Do you think he’ll come back? Hiromi?” Your voice was quiet. The frog plushie was in your lap now, where you were fiddling with it anxiously. 

Sukuna thought about that. He didn’t really know Hiromi well enough to decisively say either way, but the man had probably been shaken up by Sukuna’s presence last night. His instagram message was filled with plenty of faux courage, but that was much easier to present through a screen than in person. 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” 

He hadn’t meant to sound so flippant, only realising that his response had probably scared you when he noticed the way that your shoulders seized up a little. 

“It doesn’t matter though. If he comes back I’ll deal with him.” He approached you, fingers finding their way beneath your chin as he leant forward, tilting your face up a little before pressing a kiss against your forehead as he’d done last night. “Let’s have some breakfast, yeah?” 

As he’d expected, he’d found your cupboards to be relatively bare. That tended to be the norm with you, only generally having groceries to spare when Sukuna was coming around regularly. Considering that he’d been in Kyoto for the past week he should’ve expected that you’d go straight back to your habit of convenience store dinners. 

Not that he minded, it just meant that he got to take you to a cafe for breakfast, which was probably for the best anyway, it was better for you to get out of the house. 

You were staring out of the window of the cute cafe he’d led you to, drumming your fingers absentmindedly against the wood of the table as he approached with a tray in hand, placing a mocha down in front of you along with a pain au chocolat. 

“This place is good, I sometimes go before lectures, but the cakes and pastries aren’t anywhere near as good as the ones your dad makes.” He said, taking a bite from the cinnamon roll that he’d gotten for himself. 

“I’ll tell him you said that, he’ll be thrilled.” You said, turning your attention to him. It was clear that you were trying your best to act like everything was normal, but he could still see that glassy, far-off look in your eyes that said differently. 

“I already have told him.” He said with a grin, thinking about the way the old man had lit up at his words. 

Hell, he’d even received a call from his own dad a day later where Wasuke had told him all about how thrilled your father had been at the compliment, gushing about what a lovely son Wasuke had raised. 

Ironically, his dad had spent the rest of the phone call yelling at him, asking why he’d be so damn polite to someone else’s family but not his own. 

You smiled. “No wonder he loves you so much. Hadn’t realised how much you were feeding his ego.” 

“Oh? He loves me?” 

“Yeah.” You said, rolling your eyes. “He’s very invested in…this. Keeps telling me to invite you over for dinner and stuff.” 

Sukuna tilted his head. “In this? Whatever do you mean?” His tone was playful, feeling a rush of excitement at the way you glared at him. It was probably mean to tease you right now, considering the night you’d had, but some things were too good to pass up. 

“You know, this.” You gestured between the two of you, clearly praying that was enough of an explanation to sufficiently appease him. 

It wasn’t. 

“No, actually I don’t know.” He said, leaning forward and resting his chin atop his hand. “Guess you’ll have to explain it to me.” 

“I hate you.” You mumbled, before falling silent, unwilling to play along with his game. 

He wasn’t really surprised - he knew that you weren’t ready to label things yet, but the fact that you’d even told your father about everything going on was enough of a sign for him on where your mind was at. 

Well, that paired with the fact that he’d spent last night in your bed. 

“I don’t think I’ve received that invite, you know? The one to dinner with your dad.” He spoke after a beat of silence, shit-eating grin fixed on his face. 

“No?” You asked, blinking up at him innocently. “Oh, I swear I asked you to come and be held captive in my dad’s apartment while he talks you through every baseball card he’s ever owned.” 

Sukuna laughed. “I definitely would’ve remembered if you’d asked, that sounds like the ideal Friday night to me.” 

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes, obviously assuming that was sarcasm. 

To an extent it was sarcasm, since his perfect friday night would probably be something along the lines of fucking you on his couch while some shitty movie plays in the background, but as far as he was concerned spending an evening with you and your dad wasn’t far off ideal either. 

After all, he’d get to spend the night hanging out with you, hearing embarrassing stories about your childhood and just generally deepening the bond you had. Not to mention, he liked your dad a lot - he had plenty of time for the old man and was more than happy to listen to him talk through his card collection. 

“I’m not kidding. Invite me over.”

You stared at him, surprise evident on your face as you gave him a little smile and a nod. You opened your mouth to say something only to falter as your phone lit up, a text coming in from an unknown number. Sukuna couldn’t quite read it from his position opposite you, but the way that the colour drained from your face said it all. 

The screen went dark as you sucked in a deep breath, making an effort to try and calm yourself. Sukuna stared at you for a moment before reaching out towards the phone. 

“Can I see?” 

You nodded, unlocking it and handing it to him without a word, turning to look out the window, as if you could pretend that nothing was happening as long as you didn’t personally acknowledge the notification. 

He frowned as he stared at the paragraph before him.

[Unknown]: I didn’t expect you to act like all the other whores who hang off Sukuna but I guess my expectations of you were too high. Have fun begging for a shred of attention once he dumps you for someone hotter. I’ll be making millions of yen as a lawyer living in Ginza, probably dating some sexy girl who has her life together while you’ll be sad and alone wishing that you were with me. You were never good at thinking for yourself and it really shows. Hope you can live with your stupid decisions.

Digging his fingernails into his palm, he tried his best to calm himself down. What the fuck was this guy’s problem anyway? Why couldn’t he just leave you in peace? Any normal guy would take a rejection, realise that they were unwanted and back off, but for some reason that wasn’t enough for this guy - he needed to tear down your character too. 

He could only assume that what he was reading right now was a mere fraction of that way Hiromi had spoken to you back when you were actually in a relationship - no wonder you’d woken up this morning and had the first word out of your mouth be an apology. 

It pissed him off. 

“Alright, I’m gonna go deal with him.” 

You looked at him in disbelief, shaking your head desperately. “Please, I don’t want you to get in trouble.” 

He winced, sighing as he stared back at you, crimson eyes unwavering as he examined your anxious expression. “Then what do you want to do? We can always report it to the police, since he is stalking you.” 

“I-” You glanced around, as if nervous that someone might be listening in on your conversation. “I don’t wanna go to the police.” 

He had to lean forward to even hear you, a little taken aback by your stance. Sukuna was the type of guy who probably wouldn’t go to the police unless it was really necessary, but that was because he’d been on the wrong side of the law before. You, on the other hand, shouldn’t have any objection to going to the authorities - you were completely in the right.

“Why?” He asked, letting the question hang in the air for a while before deciding that you weren’t going to give him an answer. “Look, we can’t just do nothing. He showed up at your house and now he’s still texting you nasty shit. We can report it to the police, or I can go and deal with it, but he has to know one way or another that he can’t get away with this.” 

“I don’t want to do anything, I just want it to stop.” You mumbled, eyes trained on the table. “I’m just worn so thin, I’m so tired from the last few months I don’t want to deal with this at all.” 

“Then let me deal with it. Let it be my problem. Hell, if you don’t want me to speak to Hiromi I can go to the police for you, I can do all the paperwork and shit, whatever, I just need to do something.” 

He could understand your point of view - taking any course of action would take effort and energy that you didn’t currently have. But he was far from okay with letting Hiromi pull this shit and walk away with no consequences. 

“The police won’t listen.” You said with a deep sigh. “We’ve got no real evidence beyond a couple of messages where he’s being mean, which isn’t exactly a crime. I know that the police never take harassment seriously so it just feels pointless. Besides, he’s such a smooth talker I know that he’ll just turn things around and make me look like the crazy one.” 

“I mean.” Sukuna lowered his voice. “You’ve got a ring camera, right? So we can prove he showed up last night. Plus, stalking and harassment aside, he also assaulted you back when you were in a relationship. If you told the police about that they’d probably take it seriously - at the very least you’d be able to get a restraining order against him and then if he ever tried anything again he’d be arrested.” 

You shook your head quickly. “I don’t- I don’t want to tell them about that.” 

Sukuna’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But it would-” 

“No.” You said firmly, before taking a deep breath. “Victims rarely get believed anyway - all that would do is lead us into a long and drawn out trial where I’d have to re-live everything only for Hiromi to come out on top in the end. I don’t want that, I just want to move on.” 

There was a part of him that wanted to challenge that, wanted to point out that it was worth trying anyway because what Hiromi had done was despicable, leaving you mentally ruined, unable to easily cope with intimacy in the way that you could have before. 

But the panic on your face gave him pause. 

It wasn’t for him to decide whether you spoke up about that, and you were probably right - plenty of violent rapists walked free, so the chances of convicting a man for sexual assault when the two of you had been in a relationship at the time was even less likely. 

Why should you have to face Hiromi again? Unpick all of your negative emotions only to come out of it with nothing. That wasn’t fair. He wasn’t going to force you into that. 

“Sorry.” He mumbled after a few beats of silence. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.” 

“It's okay.” You were clutching your mug tight between your hands, letting the warmth seep into your skin, avoiding his gaze. “I just- I don’t wanna deal with a load of legal stuff, I don’t really want anything out of this beyond him leaving me alone.” 

“I get it.” 

He reached across the table, tips of his fingers skimming gently across yours as he pulled your hand from the mug, entwining your hands together, squeezing lightly as he encouraged you to look up at him. 

“No police - that’s fine. But please let me go and talk to that asshole.” He said softly, maroon eyes fixed on you. “Let me look after you.” 

He’d expected more resistance - a conclusion to the conversation in the form of you firmly putting your foot down on ignoring the issue entirely and hoping that it went away on its own. To some extent he could understand your desire for that - he’d always heard that the best way to deal with a narcissist was to give them absolutely nothing, no fuel to feed their egos. 

Sukuna really wasn’t a do nothing type of guy though, so he was elated when you actually gave in, giving him permission to go and clearly lay out to Hiromi what he thought, since the message clearly hadn’t made it through his thick skull last night. 

So once the two of you had finished your coffee, and you’d begrudgingly handed him Hiromi’s address after making him promise that he wasn’t going to beat the guy to death and get arrested, he headed off to confront the man. 

He’d dropped you off at his house in the meantime, taking you back to your place to pack up a bag of things, suggesting that you’d feel safer in a place that Hiromi hadn’t stalked you to the night before. Considering that Toji and Choso wouldn’t be back for a few weeks it was no issue for you to be there, you could just hang out in his room while he got the job done. 

Rage was burning hot in his chest by the time he arrived outside Hiromi’s house, which was disgustingly fancy for a university student. You’d mentioned that your ex’s parents were wealthy, that they’d actually bought him his own place to live in while he finished his studies, but he wasn’t expecting this. 

No wonder he had such an inflated ego if this was what mommy and daddy were prepared to do for him. 

It was evident that Hiromi wasn’t expecting him, considering the look of sheer terror that crossed the man’s face when he opened the door, all the blood draining from his cheeks, brown eyes wide with horror. Sukuna had to admit that it made him feel good - he knew he was a scary guy and any validation of that did wonders to his ego. 

Of course Hiromi was nothing more than a keyboard warrior, a man with a load of pretty words and no real backbone. Sukuna would’ve found him amusing if not for how scared you were of the guy. The fact that you’d ever let someone so pathetic have so much control over you made him sad - this man shouldn’t have even been allowed to stand in your presence, let alone plague your mind for two years. 

“What are you doing here?” Hiromi’s voice was calm, but the way that his hand was tightly clutching at the door said otherwise. 

“We’re past that, don’t you think?” Sukuna said. “Playing dumb doesn’t really work for a guy like you, I know you’re clever.” 

“I apologise for my behaviour last night.” Hiromi said. “I was inebriated, I acted in poor taste.” 

Sukuna stared at him incredulously, before letting out a laugh, almost doubling over with how hard he was cackling. “You’ll really just say anything, huh? No wonder she’s so scared of you, that apology was so convincing that you’d have anyone fooled.” 

“I was being genuin-”

“Not me, though.” Sukuna cut him off. “I know not to believe a single word out of your mouth.” 

Sukuna’s hand was pressing against the door now, keen to ensure that Hiromi didn’t attempt the coward’s way out of shutting it in his face. 

“Please, I’m so hungover, can you just leave?” 

Hiromi was growing irritated now, standing up a little taller, clearly trying to twist the narrative so that he was the victim. He wanted it to look like Sukuna had shown up to pick a fight for no reason. That really pissed him off, and he could completely understand why you’d never felt like you had the upper hand with this man, his strong self-preservation ever knocking you off-kilter. 

“No. I’m not leaving until I have assurance that you’re gonna leave her alone.”

“I told you, yesterday was just a mistake, I won’t-” 

“What about the message you sent this morning?” Sukuna asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He balked at that, almost impressed by Hiromi’s insistence on denying every single claim made against him. He supposed that was a perfect trait to find in a person training to be a defence lawyer. Yeah, Sukuna had done some research on the man that morning, getting you to contact Nanami for all the information he had before he’d made the drive over to Hiromi’s house. 

That was how he knew that right now Hiromi was working for a company that valued their reputation significantly. 

“Oh, so you don’t remember comparing my girlfriend to a whore this morning?” 

He didn’t really care that you weren’t technically his girlfriend yet, because in his mind you absolutely were. 

“No? Why would I do that?” 

“Mmm. Must’ve been her other abusive ex then, I guess.” He said sarcastically. “How about this, then?” He held up his phone to show Hiromi the long message that he’d received in the early hours of the morning. 

“I told you already, I wasn’t in my right mind, I was drunk.” 

“Oh, so you admit you did send this one then?” 

For a moment, Hiromi seemed caught off guard. “No, I-”

“You know, it's funny - I get drunk all the time and I’ve never stalked a girl or sent her incel-like messages. Drunk words are sober thoughts and all that - or whatever that fucking saying is.” 

He’d never really believed that, but it worked well enough for his argument right now. 

“Look man, it was one night, one mistake. My bad. This is between me and her anyway, I don’t know why you’re interfering. She’s probably told you plenty of lies about me and now you’re white knighting her, which is really lame - she isn’t worth all that.” 

The level of delusion that Hiromi seemed to live under was something else entirely. Did he honestly think that he could turn Sukuna against you? That there would be any chance in hell that he’d believe someone who was clearly lying to his face over believing you? 

Sukuna had watched you have a visceral reaction to being kissed, and the information that you had told him about Hiromi had to be practically dragged out of you. There was no doubt in his mind who the liar was here. 

All of his instincts were screaming at him to punch Hiromi in the face right now, to break his nose and leave it at that - but your voice in his head urging him not to get into trouble was winning out. He didn’t want to spend the afternoon in jail, didn’t want to put you under that stress. 

He’d much prefer to spend his day back at his house with you in his arms. 

So he took a deep breath, and kept firm control over his temper. 

“I think you’re misunderstanding.” He said calmly. “You say this is between you and her, but she wants nothing to do with you. So here I am, warning you to stop. Stop contacting her, stop talking about her, stop even fucking thinking of her.” 

Hiromi chuckled. “What, are you gonna police my thoughts?” He asked incredulously. 

“No, I’m not. But if you so much as glance in her direction I’ll be getting in contact with that legal firm that you intern at and I’ll show them everything. The messages you sent earlier today, the ones you sent just before she blocked you, the ring camera footage of you bashing on her door last night.” 

Hiromi paled at that, eyes widening a little. In his drunken state he obviously hadn’t considered that there might be a camera. 

“And, with all those things in mind, they might also be interested to hear about the way that you treated her during the relationship. Working with a guy who can’t take no for an answer doesn’t look great for a firm who actively avoids taking cases to defend rapists.” 

“That’s not what-” 

“I think you can lie to the police just fine, and I’m not gonna put her through you dragging her name through the mud in a court. That isn’t fair. But do you really think your firm will take any chances on you? I think you’ll be out of there quicker than you can even comprehend what’s happening.” 

Hiromi hesitated, anger clearly simmering beneath a measured expression, ever focussed on keeping on that mask of manipulation, even in this situation. But Sukuna could see his hands trembling at his sides, balled into tight fists. 

“So what’s it gonna be? Keep your job and stay the fuck away from her? Or throw away your future for a girl who’d rather die than go anywhere near you?” Sukuna smirked at him condescendingly. “You’re a smart guy, right? I’m sure you can make the right decision.”

—

You spent the next week practically living at Sukuna’s house. 

Even though he’d gone out of his way to lay down the law to Hiromi, making it immensely clear what would happen if he came anywhere near you again, you still didn’t feel particularly safe in your own home. Sukuna had offered to stay with you until you felt comfortable again, but your preference was to be in a different place entirely. 

You hadn’t spent much time at Sukuna’s place before. Mainly because he lived with Toji and Choso, and with the two of you in a weird place still, without any labels on what your relationship was, you didn’t want to make things more complex by letting more people know about the situation. 

Even if they all definitely already knew where Sukuna was spending his time outside of the house. 

But right now it wasn’t something that you had to worry about - with everyone off on summer break, Sukuna was currently the only one living in the house, and that meant that the two of you had the run of the place. It was nice, getting to spend the days alone together, in a place where you actually felt safe. 

At first Sukuna had offered to sleep in Choso’s room while you took his bed, not taking for granted the idea that you’d want to share a bed with him again, ever doing his best to take your boundaries into account. 

Originally you’d taken him up on his offer, curling up alone in his bed that smelt so much like him as you tried to drift off to sleep. But as you stared into the darkness of his room, mind racing with horrible words that Hiromi had spat at you, you found that sleep was an impossibility in your solitude. 

Sukuna was shirtless as he opened the door to Choso’s room, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he gazed down at you. For a moment your mind drew a blank at what you’d even gone there for, too distracted by the sight in front of you. Your eyes trailed down his figure, admiring the tattoos running down his chest, his defined abs, the way that his sweatpants were hanging low on his waist. 

Heart pounding, you tried to remind yourself of the issue at hand, completely frozen at the sight of him. You’d known he was hot but seeing him like this felt like something else entirely. 

“See something you like, baby?” He asked, lips curling up into a grin as he watched you carefully. 

“Uhh- I- I wasn’t-”

He let out a short chuckle as you stumbled over your words, leaning his forearm against the door, towering over your smaller figure. 

“Everything okay? It's late.” 

You played with your fingers, averting your gaze from him in an attempt to hide the flush painting your face. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

“No?” 

You shook your head, feeling a little embarrassed to show up like this, acting like a little kid who’d had a bad dream. What kind of adult couldn’t deal with sleeping alone?

“Just feel too on edge, even if he’s not coming back, everything just keeps playing over and over again in my head.”

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. Planting a kiss atop your head, he ran his hand comfortingly up and down your back, letting you relax against him. You could hear his heart racing, your breath hitching at the realisation that despite his outwardly cool appearance, he was as affected by you as you were by him. 

“Want to share the bed again?” He asked, saving you the humiliation of asking the question. 

You just nodded into his chest, letting him lead you back to his room, settling you both into his bed and pulling you close against him, just like he had the night before. It was a little different, feeling a whole lot more intimate with him being half naked. But you found that it wasn’t something that bothered you. 

On the contrary, with his arms firmly wrapped around your body, you found yourself drifting off in a matter of minutes, the anxious thoughts floating away with his comforting presence at your side. 

Sharing a bed became normal from that point on. 

There was no more questioning from Sukuna’s side as to whether it was okay - it just became part of your routine, an addition to the list of intimacy that you’d allow him. 

It wasn’t really a big deal - sharing a bed. Before the events with Hiromi you would’ve shared a bed with any close friend of yours without a second thought. But it felt like a major milestone now. Considering how panicked you’d felt when Sukuna had first kissed you, the fact that you now felt totally at peace when laying in his arms felt like a massive improvement. 

You were sure that you still wouldn’t be able to cope if it was anyone else touching you, but with Sukuna at the very least, you felt safe. It began to even be something that you would seek out, laying your head on his lap when you’d watch TV, nestling your face into his chest each night, nudging yourself against his lips when he’d lean down to plant a kiss against your forehead. 

It felt almost like you were normal. Like you weren’t someone who’d had a complete breakdown in his room at a simple kiss. 

Being with Sukuna all the time felt comfortable, and even with thoughts of the encounter with Hiromi still swirling round your head, you found that those days at his house were the happiest you’d ever been. 

You’d told your dad about the situation with Hiromi, filling him in on the fact that Sukuna had been looking after you ever since. The man had been livid, threatening to get in contact with your ex himself, only for you to calm him down and remind him that you’d rather he just took care of himself for now. 

But he still insisted on you taking a break from the shop, promising you that he’d figure it out between your aunt and cousin so that you could take a break. You’d tried to push back, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer, teasing you about how he’d much rather you lock down his future son-in-law than waste your time working. 

And as much as you’d protested, you had to admit that it was nice to wake up at Sukuna’s side with no weight on your shoulders - the whole day ahead of you, spending sleepy mornings in his arms, tangled up in his bed until the day got too hot to bear the warmth of each other’s bodies. 

You’d do whatever you pleased with your days, heading out to cafes and parks, doing grocery shopping so that the two of you could cook meals together in the evenings. Sukuna always made the most of the time that you were alone in the house, taking the opportunity to show you his favourite movies and play games with him, laughing at just how bad you were when he destroyed you on Smash Bros for the 50th time. 

It wasn’t strange or uncomfortable, and the nervousness that you’d occasionally felt around him seemed to melt away. Being at his side felt natural, like it was where you were meant to be. You were comfortable with him to the point where you wondered what it would be like to take things further, the question always on the tip of your tongue as he pulled you close at night. 

He definitely wanted to take things further - you weren’t blind to that. When you’d cuddle in his bed, or when he’d place you on his lap, holding you against him on the couch when watching a movie, you could often feel how hard he was through his jeans or sweats. 

Ever since he’d first kissed you on the forehead he’d been growing more bold, always taking the opportunity to place a gentle peck somewhere on your skin, be it your head, nose or cheek. You’d often catch him staring at your lips while you were talking, getting the occasional impulse to lean forward and kiss him yourself, only to be caught up with uncertainty about how you’d react. 

What if it undid all of the progress you’d made? What if you still couldn’t cope? 

The last thing you wanted was to hurt him, especially when you were in such a good place. 

But you had to admit, that as the days wore on, that uncertainty began to unravel. The way that he made you feel was like nothing you’d never experienced before - completely different to your experience with Hiromi. And with each moment you couldn’t help but think that it was worth the risk. 

Denying something that you wanted out of fear of how it could go wrong was stupid. Wasn’t it worse to not have it at all?

You knew that you wanted him, what were you even hesitating for? 

—

Sukuna’s hand was wrapped firmly around yours as you made your way through the crowds at a summer festival in a nearby park. He’d been excited to go for weeks, loving the idea of going on a date with you that felt more special than an outing to a restaurant or cafe. 

Not to mention, he loved the idea of seeing you all dressed up in a yukata - and you certainly delivered on that front, looking absolutely adorable in your light blue outfit, covered with a pattern of red flowers. You were even wearing a cute hair stick, a red glass flower sitting on the end of it. 

His get-up wasn’t anywhere near as elaborate as yours, wearing a simple white yukata with navy accenting that he’d had for the last couple of years. He wasn’t really the type of person to go to summer festivals, hence the simple and inexpensive choice of clothing. 

He’d always seen festivals as the kind of thing that you’d do on a date, having watched Choso attend many of them over the last two years with various girls. For that reason they’d never been something he was all that interested in. 

But now that he found himself with someone that he actually wanted to take out on dates, his opinion had shifted. 

And he was glad for that, because the way that your face was all bright with joy had his heart racing. You were clinging to his hand as you tugged him here and there, bringing him round to each stall as you nattered excitedly about all the food you wanted to eat and how much you were looking forward to the firework display. 

The two of you ate your way through most of the festival, feasting on every type of food that you could imagine on a stick before moving onto the sweets, making sure to try out everything that the stalls had on offer - sharing choco-bananas, candyfloss and candy apples until you both started to feel sick. 

Opting to go and find a place to sit and let your food digest as you waited for the fireworks to start, you came to a halt for a moment at one of the game stalls, watching people shoot at targets, your eyes skimming over the wall of prizes. You gave Sukuna’s hand a squeeze as you stared, seemingly transfixed by the sight. 

There was an assortment of stuffed animals up for grabs, which you seem instantly drawn to. Considering the sheer amount of soft toys that you had in your bedroom, he couldn’t say he was that surprised, but you’d walked past plenty of stalls like that one already that evening. 

“I’ve never won one of these prizes.” You said with a pout, eyes clearly focussed on something specific but he wasn’t sure what. “My dad would always take me to these types of festivals as a kid and my aim would suck so I never won. My dad would try to win a prize for me but his aim also sucks so we’d walk away with nothing.” 

“That checks out.” Sukuna said with a laugh, thinking about how he’d watched you miss throwing something into the trash from just an inch away. He figured you’d pout or tell him to shut up, but you just continued on with your story. 

“When I was like ten years old, there was one specific plushie that I always wanted - this cute little tiger one that I’d see every year at this festival that we’d go and visit down in Kyushu for our yearly holiday.” 

Sukuna stared at the display once more, his crimson gaze falling onto a tiger plushie sat in the middle of the display. In his opinion, it was an ugly little creature, overly chunky with a slightly misshapen face. The creators of the toy had clearly been too lazy or cheap to add eyes, opting to sew in black lines to suggest that the toy’s eyes were closed. 

It was no more special than any of the plushies that lined your bed, but you were staring up at it like it was the best thing you’d ever seen. 

Which, somehow, made Sukuna feel a little jealous which was stupid because this thing was a fucking plushie, but he only wanted you looking at him like that. 

Regardless, he shook the feeling off quickly, because seeing you smile made him insanely happy and that meant that he’d do anything to keep that bright look on your face, even if it meant winning you that stupid little creature. 

“I’ve got pretty good aim.” He said casually, heart fluttering as you stared up at him all starry-eyed. 

Although, it was nothing compared to the look that you gave him when he actually stepped up and won the damn thing for you. 

He’d always been great at these games - this kind of thing was absolutely within his forte, and he had no problem hitting every target he was given, much to the dismay of the boy tending the stall. Hell, the thing was probably rigged to make it harder to win and he was still good enough. 

You’d broken out into a huge grin as he’d handed you the tiger, clutching the thing like you’d been handed a valuable piece of jewelry rather than an ugly soft toy. 

But your excitement made him feel good all the same, his ego thoroughly stroked as you gushed on about how impressive he was, how you had no idea he was so talented. 

He was a man who received compliments all the time, both men and women alike always praising him for one thing or another. It was always something he saw as an annoyance - he’d never been the type of person who needed external validation to make him feel good. 

A compliment from you though? That was something else entirely. Your soft little voice telling him how great never failed to put him on cloud nine. He could hear it again and again and never get tired. 

The two of you made your way through the rest of the festival and up some steps, further into the park where the buzz started to die down a little. There were a handful of other couples up there, likely all seeking the same thing as you - a quieter place to watch the fireworks together. 

It didn’t take much time to find a nice spot, sitting next to each other on a secluded little bench, staring out at the sky that would be streaked with colour in a short while when the show finally got started. You leant your head against Sukuna’s shoulder, letting him slide an arm around you as you leant into his side. 

The tiger plushie that he’d won you was clutched in your hands tightly, your fingers rubbing at the soft fur of its head, a small smile playing on your face as you stared down at it. 

“What you gonna call it?” He asked. 

“Hmmm, I’m not sure.” You said thoughtfully. “I haven’t named every plushie I have.” 

“But this one’s special, right? Surely it should have a name.” 

You stared down at it for a moment longer before letting out a cute giggle. “You know it kinda reminds me of you, maybe I’ll call it Kuna.” 

Sukuna glared at you with distaste, he wasn’t pleased to be compared to this lump of a soft toy. 

“Y’know, the markings and stuff, they’re kind of like your tattoos. Plus, you won it for me so it only makes sense that he gets to be named after you.” You explained. 

Admittedly, that softened the blow significantly, a warmth spreading in his chest at the thought that you’d look at this tiger and think of him. Perhaps once you’d gone back to sleeping in your own bed you’d even clutch it against you when you slept because it reminded you of him. 

“Do whatever you want.” He grumbled, but it was mostly performative. You just giggled even harder, setting the tiger down in your lap as you huddled up closer to him, staring out at the view of the park you had from this vantage point. It was nice to see the festival still in full swing as before, the lanterns illuminating the people below you. 

“My dad would’ve loved this festival, he’s always a snob about these kinds of things but this one would’ve lived up to his standards.”

“A summer festival snob?” 

“Yeah. He hates it when things move too far from tradition, I think he has these great memories of festivals he went to as a kid and gets mad when they don’t live up to the same standards. That Kyushu festival that I mentioned? They modernised a lot a couple of years ago, had all kinds of westernised food and stalls and my dad was mad.” 

Sukuna laughed, unable to even imagine what it would be like to get on your dad’s bad side. He was always so kind whenever Sukuna was around, but he supposed that your father and his must have more in common than he was aware of - they wouldn’t be so friendly otherwise. 

“My family didn’t go to many festivals.” Sukuna said. “My dad was always working and my mom left so there was no big family outing. Me and Jin went with some friends towards the end of high school, and I went to one in my first year of uni with the guys, but that was it.” 

“Oh…That’s a shame, I feel like it's the best when you’re a kid.” 

He shrugged before glancing down at you, his eyes soft. “Maybe, but I feel like I’m enjoying it a lot right now anyway.” 

You blushed, still managing to hold his gaze as you stared up at him. You could feel his breath fanning against your face, your noses almost touching as he leant down a little, eyes flickering to your lips for a moment. 

“I like having you at my place.” He murmured. “Feels right, seeing you there each morning.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, breath hitching.

“Yeah. I feel like you have no idea how crazy you’re driving me though.” 

You blinked up at him, tilting your head in question. He drew a deep breath, trying to calm himself because that shit was hard when you were always looking so damn cute, just existing in front of him like you weren’t the prettiest woman in the world. 

“I think I have some idea.” You breathed. 

That statement alone was sending him into overdrive, heart hammering in his ribcage as you leant closer to him, the tips of your noses brushing for a moment before he threw caution to the wind. If you didn’t like it you could pull away, but he wasn’t going to pass up on what was probably the clearest signal you’d given him in weeks. 

His lips pressed softly against yours, more cautious than the way that he’d usually kiss, giving you every chance to pull back. 

But you didn’t. 

His heartbeat was ringing in his ears as the fireworks started to go off in the background - something that seemed completely unimportant to him now that he had you like this, your body warm against his, the taste of sugar still prominent on your lips from all the candy you’d eaten that evening. 

After a few moments he pulled away, anxiety swirling in his chest at what might come next, wondering if he’d send you running just like the last time. But things were different now, you were staring up at him with a shy smile, no fear or disappointment in your expression like before. 

“Can you do that again?” You asked sweetly, the colours from the fireworks reflecting in your eyes as you awaited his response. 

He broke out into a grin as he leant forward once more, pressing his lips against yours with more force this time, his tongue flicking against your lips to give him access, deepening the kiss as he pulled you flush against him, one hand tilting your head up a little to improve the angle as you let out a little whine against him. 

Pulling back for a moment to catch his breath he observed your flushed cheeks, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. 

“I’ll do it as many times as you want.” 

—

It was late by the time you arrived back at Sukuna’s house, still giddy from the evening, letting him pull you into his room, tugging you into his lap and picking up where he’d left off - his lips on yours, his fingers all tangled up in your hair. 

You were clutching his shoulders tightly, your chest pressed against his as you leant into the kiss, the sensation making your heart flutter. 

Over the course of the evening you’d decided that Hiromi must’ve been a terrible kisser, because with him everything just felt kind of wet and disappointing. You’d assumed that you were the problem, that you were just one of those people who didn’t really enjoy kissing. 

That certainly wasn’t the case. 

With Sukuna it was just so different. It felt good - the way that his tongue would move with yours, paired with the way he’d nip lightly at your lower lip. He’d intersperse rougher, open-mouthed kisses with soft pecks, keeping you on your toes and yearning for more. 

The two of you had been at it for a while, no words required for the moment. It was clear that this time was different to the first kiss that you’d shared in Sukuna’s room a few weeks back, this time there was no hesitation in your mind, no thoughts of the trauma Hiromi inflicted, no nagging fear that Sukuna was just interested in a one night stand. 

This time it felt right. 

His fingers were toying with the obi holding your yukata together, and as you shuffled a little in his lap you became all too aware of his hardened length beneath the fabric, pressing up against your thigh. 

If you’d been in this position a few weeks ago, there was no doubt that it all would’ve been too much for you, that the realisation of him wanting you like that would be too overwhelming, sending you running for the hills. 

But some power that had been held over you had been released lately. Perhaps it was the realisation of just how pathetic Hiromi truly was that had spurred this. Were you really going to let a man as sad as him impact your intimacy with someone far better? 

Absolutely not. 

So instead of stomach-churning anxiety, you found yourself grinding your hips against Sukuna, giving in to the desire and need that had been steadily building in your gut over the last few weeks. 

He pulled back from the kiss, expression measured as he studied you, head tilting to the side in question, wondering just what it was that you were trying to do. 

“I want you.” You whispered, lips still close to his. 

His red eyes widened a little in surprise, clearly not expecting to do anything more than making out. Considering how slowly you’d warmed up to things you couldn’t say you were shocked by his reaction. 

“We don’t have to do anything.” He said carefully, one of his hands cupping your cheek. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, if that’s what this is.” 

“It's not.” 

He gave you a skeptical look. “I’m not gonna be mad, you don’t have to-” 

“I want this.” You cut him off. “Please. My only experiences with this suck, I just want something good to overwrite it all.”

He bit his lip, considering his options. A pang of uncertainty struck you just as hard as ever, your subconscious murmuring that he just didn’t like you that much, as if he hadn’t spent the last few hours mapping out your lips, the past weeks holding you as you slept. 

“I know you’re experienced, I know you can make it feel good.” You reasoned, and he gave you a look that could only be described as exasperation. In a less serious conversation you probably would’ve laughed. 

“Yeah, I’m experienced at fucking, I’m not so experienced at sweet, gentle stuff.” He pointed out, before running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I’ll be sweet and gentle with you, I just mean- you caught me off guard, I guess.” He let out a breathy laugh. 

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass.” You murmured, glancing down in embarrassment. 

“I know, I just- I want it to be good for you. I figured I’d have time to make that first time special, make sure that you were comfortable and all that.” 

“I’m comfortable right now. I’m comfortable with you and I trust you, so…” You trailed off, playing with the edge of his yukata, where the fabric crossed over his chest. He sucked in a breath, clearly fighting a war in his head before speaking again. 

“Are you sure, baby?” He asked firmly, red eyes fixed on you, searching for any hint of reluctance, but finding none. 

“I’m sure.” 

His lips were on you once more, kissing you desperately as his hands tugged on the bow holding your yukata together. You busied yourself pushing his yukata down off his shoulders, leaving him bare-chested as the fabric fell down to the obi at his waist. 

Even though you’d seen him shirtless before, the sight never failed to ignite something in you. He was so unbelievably hot, his tattoos serving to accentuate the physique that he’d clearly worked hard to get. 

Not that he allowed you much time to admire him - his lips moving onto your neck, sucking at a sweet spot just above your shoulder as he finally got the bow untied.

A soft gasp left you as he nipped at your skin, warmth pooling in your stomach as he slipped the yukata down your shoulders, leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties. You hadn’t planned for this, which meant that you were wearing mismatched underwear, something you probably would’ve considered if you’d known the night would lead to this. 

Not that Sukuna seemed fazed, pulling back for a moment to admire you, his hands skimming up your sides, raising goosebumps under his touch. 

“So pretty.” He hummed, peppering kisses on your shoulder, his hands finding the back of your bra and unclasping it deftly. 

Your heart was thudding as he slowly pulled it off you, a wave of shyness washing over you now that you were bare under his gaze. It wasn’t like you were particularly insecure about your body, but being in this situation for the first time in a long time, with only bad experiences to reflect on, was a little nerve-wracking. 

“Fuck.” Sukuna breathed softly, hand cupping one of your breasts, tracing along the curves carefully with the tips of his fingers, his touch light, like you were made of something fragile. 

Eyes fixed on him as his fingers carved a path upwards, a shuddering sigh left your lips at the sensation of his fingers reaching your nipple, skimming tenderly over the peaked bud, the feeling sending a jolt of electricity straight to your gut. 

In the back of your mind, you’d been aware for a long time that you were touch-starved. Because despite your crippling fear of intimacy, you were still a romantic at heart, still someone who yearned for closeness and the touch of another person. Those feelings had just been twisted and corrupted by Hiromi, locked away thanks to his mistreatment. 

But Sukuna had the ability to pull them from you once more, all of your nerves going haywire as he tweaked your nipple with two fingers, leaving you rubbing your thighs together with need in the face of the attention he was giving you. 

His fingers were nothing compared to his mouth, a fact that you found out almost immediately as he craned himself down, flat tongue running over the bud, teasing you for just a moment before bringing it between his lips and sucking tenderly. The pressure made your breath hitch, waves of pleasure passing through you.

It was a pleasure that didn’t subside easily, practically frozen on his lap as he lathered your breasts with attention, feeling yourself grow wetter with each flick of his tongue, unsure of what you should be doing right now while he made you feel good. 

After all, it wasn’t like you had much experience with this. Should you be doing something? Was it okay that you were just clinging to him and whining like you were? A small flicker of insecurity ate at you, anxious at the thought that he’d be disappointed by your lack of experience - that other girls he’d been with might’ve done a better job at pleasing him. 

“Get out of that pretty head of yours.” Sukuna pulled back from your breasts, straightening up and bringing a thumb beneath your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. “Can practically hear you overthinking.” 

“Sorry, I’m just worried I won’t be good at this.” 

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “Not sure you understand how badly I want you, baby. It’ll be good because I get to touch you. I don’t care if you don’t know what to do, I’ve got plenty of time to teach you anyway.” 

The implication behind his tone, that this was just the first time of many, had your stomach fluttering. A feeling that was only heightened as Sukuna slipped his hand down between your thighs, fingers pressing against your panties. 

“So wet, is this all for me?” He asked with a small chuckle, causing your face to redden in embarrassment. “I’m flattered, baby.” 

His fingers moved deftly to the edge of the fabric, lifting you ever so slightly and pulling your panties down your legs, letting them drop to the floor. He then maneuvered you a little in his lap, so that you were sitting sideways, your head nestled in the crook of his neck. Your eyes were fixed on that space between your thighs where his hand was currently positioned, the tips of his fingers running along your folds and gathering up the slick that had accumulated there. 

Your body was jolting each time his fingers brushed over your clit, like you’d been yearning for this longer than you’d been aware of, desperate for him to make you feel good. 

But that didn’t stop the panic from rising in your chest at the feeling of his middle finger pressing gently at your opening, mind conjuring memories of how badly the stretch had hurt the last time you’d tried anything like this. Even when masturbating you’d only ever touch externally, opting to avoid the inevitable pain that penetration would bring. 

“You okay?” He mumbled against your hair, hand stilling for a moment. “We can stop.” 

“It's okay, I’m just nervous.” 

He hummed, giving you a gentle squeeze with the arm currently wrapped around your midsection. “We’ll take it nice and slow.” 

You sucked in a breath as the tip of his finger pressed into you, his movements careful and calculated as he worked his finger into your tight heat. You knew that you were clamping down on him more than you should be, making the situation harder for both of you as your walls gripped his finger tightly. 

“Relax, baby.” He cooed, planting a couple of kisses on the top of your head, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit, distracting you from the discomfort as he slid his finger deeper into you. It still hurt a little, the feeling foreign to you, but with each small ministration of his finger, you could feel a hint of pleasure sparking in your gut. 

Fingers digging into his biceps, you let out a soft whine that had his cock twitching beneath you. That positive reinforcement made you feel good, flesh slick coating his fingers as you loosened up ever so slightly. 

“There we go.” 

He was moving his finger a little faster now, having located that sweet spot inside you that had your stomach clenching with need, more little whimpers falling from your lips with each subtle movement. 

It came as a surprise when he started to push a second figure in, your body jolting and instantly relaxing as he applied more pressure on your clit. His free hand moved up to below your chin, tilting your face up to look at him, red eyes hazy with lust as he pulled you into a deep kiss, effectively distracting you from the pain of the stretch. 

He kept you like that for a while, exploring your mouth as he worked two fingers inside you, swallowing up your soft moans as he expertly curled his fingers into a spongy spot that had your mind overcome with desire, desperate for more. 

“Feel good?” He asked, breaking the kiss, a thin trail of saliva connecting the two of you for a moment. 

You nodded, eyes wide and glassy as you stared up at him, knowing that your voice would come out all shaky if you tried to speak. He huffed, grinning as he picked up the pace, palm pressing more firmly against your clit now, your gut tightening as the pleasure built. 

“Good.” He hummed. 

It didn’t take much time for him to make you cum after that. It was clear that he hadn’t really been trying before that point, focusing more on getting you used to the sensation, stretching you out so you were ready for what would come later. But upon hearing that it felt good, it was like he kicked things into a different gear. 

You whined and squirmed in his lap, clutching desperately at his bicep as you watched his hand moving between your thighs, heart racing at the sensation of him littering soft bites on your neck, pussy fluttering around his fingers each time his teeth grazed your sensitive skin. 

The orgasm caught you off guard, crashing over you quickly and suddenly as the pressure in your gut released. His name fell from your lips as you clenched around his fingers, gasping for breath as he continued his onslaught, red eyes filled with lust as he watched your pleasure filled expression with a lazy grin. 

“That’s my girl.” He purred, pulling his hand out from between your trembling thighs before lifting you off him, laying you down on his bed, completely exposed to him. 

Even though he’d already seen everything, had already had his fingers buried inside you, you still felt a little exposed lying splayed out before him like that. Especially with the way he was standing over you, gaze drinking in your body appreciatively, with a focus that had your heart pounding. 

It didn’t help that his lower body was still covered, his obi still holding up the lower part of his yukata, leaving you in a sense of vulnerability that he didn’t currently share. 

Though, he didn’t give you much time to feel shy, the bed dipping beneath him as he knelt down at the end of it, laying himself down on his stomach, settling in between your parted thighs, his breath fanning over your exposed pussy. 

His fingers found their way to your clit, toying with it for a moment, letting out a low chuckle at the way that your legs twitched from overstimulation, your body still coming down from your last orgasm. 

“So pretty.” He mumbled, before bringing his mouth to your pussy, licking a broad strip up it that had you gasping with pleasure. 

You’d always wondered what it was like to be eaten out. 

It wasn’t something that Hiromi had ever done. All you’d ever done with him was have penetrative sex - foreplay hadn’t been something he was particularly interested in, claiming it to be a waste of time. You hadn’t imagined that it would feel this good, your toes curling at the sensation of Sukuna’s warm tongue pressed against you, working in tandem with his fingers on your clit. 

“S-Sukuna- fuck-” 

A vibration passed through you as he let out a hum against your pussy, never letting up as he flicked his tongue mercilessly against you. It was clear that he knew what he was doing, tracing patterns against you as he lapped up the juices from your first orgasm. The embarrassment of him being between your legs quickly faded as you lost yourself in the pleasure, a hand reaching down to tug at his pink locks. 

He made you cum even faster that time. 

Your second orgasm had your vision turning white, thighs squeezing around Sukuna’s head as you whole body shook, pulling at his hair hard enough to draw a groan from his lips. Not that the action deterred him, staying between your legs and lapping up the fresh slick that was starting to drip down your thighs. 

Quiet chuckles were leaving him each time he ran his tongue through your folds, enjoying the way that your legs would shake with each pass, fingers twisting in his hair as you tried to gasp for breath, overwhelmed by the feeling. 

Sitting up, he wiped slick from his chin, shooting you a grin that had your heart racing. “You taste so sweet.” 

Cheeks turning a furious shade of red, you glanced away, doubtful that was actually the case, thinking back on how Hiromi had said he’d never eat you out because it was gross to do that kind of thing. 

And yet here Sukuna was telling you that you tasted sweet. 

It felt like you were going insane. 

Sukuna was on his feet, watching you carefully as he undid his obi, letting his yukata fall to the floor. Your eyes trailed over his body, a little surprised to find that he had tattoos on his thighs, almost jealous of the tattoo artist who’d put them there in the first place. 

But your attention was quickly drawn away from the tattoos as he pulled off his boxers, your breath hitching at the sight before you. 

You knew that he was big. You’d heard the rumors from girls, and even if you hadn’t, Sukuna’s general physique paired with his unfaltering confidence made it an easy assumption to make. 

But now that you were actually seeing it, you came to the conclusion that you might have been underestimating him. 

He was far bigger than Hiromi had been, and that realisation scared you, because sex had been a painful experience back then, with a person far smaller. You’d barely managed to take two of Sukuna’s fingers, this was something else entirely. 

The fear must’ve been written all over your face, because Sukuna looked sympathetic as he approached, crawling onto the bed. “Just like before, we can take things as slow as you want.” He promised, cupping your face in his hands gently. 

“I just- that’s not gonna fit.” 

“It will, but if you don’t wanna try we can stop.” His fingers were stroking your cheek, letting you take your time and think of your answer. 

There was a part of you that wanted to run for the hills, to tell him that it was all too much. But a much bigger part of you did want to try, desperate to appease him. It was hard to say no to someone who had your stomach swarming with butterflies at their mere presence. 

Of course you wanted to give it a try.

“Can I- can I be on top?” The question came out a little shaky. 

Sukuna’s red eyes flew wide with surprise, clearly not expecting that response. “Uhh- yeah? If that’s what you want?” He seemed perplexed by your request. 

“I don’t like the idea of not being in control right now.” You explained. 

You’d only ever been beneath Hiromi, essentially a passenger to anything that happened, unable to do anything about the pain, not in control of the speed or the depth or anything else. You were certain that Sukuna would stop if you asked him to, but while you were adjusting, you wanted to be the person in the driving seat. 

“Oh.” He thought about that for a moment, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that makes sense. You wanna sit in my lap?” 

You nodded shyly, shuffling back on the bed as Sukuna sat with his back resting against the headboard, holding out his hand to you, helping you clamber into position on top of him, your knees planted on either side of his thighs as he gazed up at you. It felt a little odd to be looking down at him, but the way that he was staring up at you with such burning desire had your stomach flipping. 

Sukuna’s hand was wrapped around his cock, rubbing the tip against your folds as you hovered just above him, mustering up your confidence as he gathered up slick, more juices leaking from your pussy at the action, turned on at the feeling of his cock pressing against you. 

“Take your time. There ain’t a rush.” He whispered. 

You took a deep breath as you lowered yourself down, hissing at the feeling of the head trying to push into you, meeting similar resistance that Sukuna’s fingers had earlier in the evening. His maroon eyes were on you, monitoring your expression carefully. His hands were on your hips, guiding you downwards but being careful not to force you, just helping you keep your balance. 

“That’s it, baby. Doing so well.” He praised. 

Even if that was a lie, which it definitely was because you currently only had the tip in and you already really wanted to cry, the compliment still made you feel good. It gave you the will to keep trying at least, because who better to work this out with than someone who was so sweet and patient with you. 

Steeling yourself, you slid yourself further down his length, moving yourself down at a snail’s pace, each movement accompanied by an excruciating stretching feeling, which you were only managing thanks to Sukuna’s fingers rubbing comforting circles against your hips, his words of encouragement helping to subdue the pain. 

It felt like an eternity until he was fully inside of you. A couple of tears had dripped down your cheeks, and your chest was rising and falling far quicker than usual, your body entering panic mode at just how stretched out you felt with him bottomed out inside of you. 

“Good girl, just relax for me, yeah?” He whispered. 

Your forehead was pressed against his, with your nails digging hard into his shoulders as you tried your best to overcome the pain. The grip that you had on him was so tight that you were sure you’d drawn blood - but he didn’t seem to mind, all of his focus was on you. 

Gently, he kissed you, moving his hands to your face as he pulled you close, keeping you still in his lap as he pressed his tongue into your mouth, letting you get all caught up in him. The two of you stayed like that for a while, with one of his hands snaking down between your bodies to rub slow circles against your clit. 

And little by little, the unbearable fullness started to become a little less painful. The tension in your thighs started to release, your body no longer in crisis mode at the concept of the foreign object currently filling you. 

“Okay, baby?” Sukuna was breathless as he pulled back. It was apparent that he was currently engaging in an exercise of restraint, his tone a little clipped, his cock twitching with every tiny movement that you made. 

He’d been waiting for this for a while - he was probably in agony having you sit still on him like this, all tensed up and squeezing his cock like you were. 

You nodded shakily, before bracing your hands on his shoulders and raising your hips up once again. You couldn’t say that it didn’t hurt - that ache was still present, but it was at least bearable now, the drag of his cock along your walls almost familiar as you moved.

It was a slow process at first, dragging yourself up and down his length, thighs burning at the effort, heart fluttering as you looked at Sukuna beneath you. He seemed to be enjoying letting you take the reins, red eyes filled with lust as his gaze flickered between your face and body. He’d heap praise on you, fingers playing with your clit, face lighting up whenever pleasure would appear in your expression. 

And pleasure was definitely something that you found - the stretch fleeing to the back of your mind after a couple of thrusts that had you seeing stars. Your attention became fixed on replicating that feeling, on hitting that spot over and over again, desperate to feel that spike of pleasure that summoned itself in your gut. 

You sped up the movement of your hips, grinding yourself against him, moans and whimpers falling from you as you tried to seek out that pleasure. That was how you found out that your stamina for this sort of thing was limited, movement slowing as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Want my help, angel?” Sukuna’s voice was low and husky, as if he was barely restraining himself. 

You’d nodded weakly, letting out a yelp of surprise as he thrust up into you, holding your hips firmly as he took over. He’d clearly been waiting for this, laughing at the way that you were clinging to him now, falling forward so your chest was pressed against his, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck as he moved you like you weighed nothing, pulling your hips up and dropping you back down on his length. 

And somehow, he was able to hit that pleasurable spot every single time. 

It was almost embarrassing, what a poor job you’d been doing of getting yourself off, when he clearly understood the task much better. 

You could feel your orgasm building up, pussy tightening around him as your release approached, only to have it snatched from you as Sukuna pulled you off him. You’d started to protest, to whine about how close you were, only for the words to be snatched from your mouth as he repositioned you so you were lying on the bed, climbing on top and sinking back into you. 

“You feel so fucking good.” He rasped, thrusting into you faster. It was clear that he had more freedom in this position, able to push deeper into you, unrestrained by your body on top of his. “Wanna do this every day- fuck- you’re so damn cute, you drive me crazy.” 

A whine of his name fell from his lips as you squirmed beneath him, gazing up at him with reverence. His hands were clasping yours tightly, pushing them down into the sheets. 

“You’re mine, huh? Gonna be my sweet little girlfriend?” 

You tried to respond, your words getting lost in a moan at the feeling of a particularly deep thrust. The coil in your gut was tightening dangerously, legs trembling with each movement of Sukuna’s cock inside you. It felt heavenly, like nothing you’d ever felt before. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He chuckled, before leaning forward and capturing your lips in a deep kiss, muffling your whine as you came around his cock, squeezing him desperately tight as you came undone, waves of pleasure washing over you, leaving your vision blurry and your body trembling. 

It didn’t take too long for Sukuna to follow suit, warmth filling you up as he released inside of you, a low groan of your name leaving his lips as he rode out his own orgasm, his hips only stilling when he was thoroughly spent. 

You’d expected him to pull out quickly after that, but he didn’t. Instead, he lay down on top of you, keeping himself nestled inside your warmth as he kissed you tenderly, his hands raking through your hair. 

“You feel so good.” He mumbled. “Want this all the time.” 

You let out a small hum of agreement, your mind still reeling from that third orgasm, the feeling of Sukuna’s softening cock still buried inside you preoccupying your thoughts. You’d never imagined that you could feel good from something like this. 

It was nice. 

Really fucking nice. 

“We can do that.” You whispered, feeling his body relax a little on top of you, warm breath brushing against your ear as he let out a contented sigh. 

“Thank god.” 

a/n: I really didn't intend to write 4k words of them fucking but here we are

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed this chapter - reblogs and comments are appreciated, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic! <3

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© sukunahs

[ho-mad]

i tried to look at some rendering/shading methods on tiktok to test but none of them worked so i just figured it out myself (sorry for the rough n unclean linearts but i wanted to focus on shading mainly) 🧜‍♂️ and also practice anatomy on vigcest